


Ain't no way, but the hard way.

by SheyRicci



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, General, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2020-12-09 19:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20999873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyRicci/pseuds/SheyRicci
Summary: Clay was out of their sight mere minutes, went to wash his hands...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There ain't no way but the hard way  
So get used to it  
I can't bear to lose  
I'll be over to fight  
Can't drink enough whiskey  
To make it all right  
You say I drink too much  
And that is a problem  
But that's how it goes  
When you hit rock bottom  
Don't need your advice  
Or your helping hand  
My favorite band - (Airbourne, Joel O'Keefe)...yeah, yeah, I know they sing about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll, still some lyrics just make me think of my man Jason Hayes...

"You have no idea how long I've been thinking about you." Sonny sang to his breakfast plate. "Come to papa, you crisp, perfect strips of bacon." He picked up a piece, waggled it about. "Lookit that! Look. At. That. You see that? I tell you, that's what I'm talking about! No rubbery, floppy fat on my bacon. Look! Look, I say."

"Yes Sonny, we see." Ray was adding salt to his grapefruit. "Your bacon stands at attention. Careful now, it's nearly bacon bits it's so well cooked." He shook his head in disbelief. "Surprised it didn't up and crumble when you touched it."

"Well-done bacon is the only meat that should ever be cooked well-done." Sonny stated.

"You call bacon meat?"

"Do they over here?"

"I do. I call ham and pork meat, all from a pig."

"Thought Texans ate steak for breakfast."

"Didn't Clay tell you breakfast as we know it, isn't served over here?"

"You sure that's bacon?"

"Hey now, I asked for bacon, this is what they brought." Sonny looked at his plate uncertainly. "Where is that little dunderhead anyway?"

"Hitting the head."

"You think these are eggs from a chicken?"

"What else would they be from?" Sonny sounded horrified.

"Uh, snake? Reptile?"

"Ya can't eat gator eggs." Sonny matter-of-factorially. "Can you?" He added uncertainly.

"Have some fruit." Ray said. "Can't go wrong with fresh, sweet fruit."

"Can to."

"No telling what kind of water it was washed with."

"Or if it was water."

Ray went green.

"Bread? How about bread? Bread okay?" Jason asked. "What does anyone have to say about bread?"

"Clay would know, he speaks the language."

"How long does it take to piss anyway?" Brock asked. "How long he been gone?"

"Couple minutes." Sonny blew him off. He really had no idea how long the kid had been gone. "Milk? I like my morning milk, you know."

"Think it's from a cow?"

"They don't eat cow over here." Sonny scowled.

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"This butter, you think?"

"Clay would know." Mandy piped up. She was eating crackers from her purse with a bottled water.

"Coffee better be okay."

"Couldn't find a restaurant that catered to foreigners?"

"Clay chose this one, so, yeah it does."

"Yeah, kid knows the customs of the languages he speaks."

Brock pushed back from the table. Clay had chosen the café after rejecting the first two they'd stopped at. Whatever he'd seen on the menu or whatever answers he'd gotten from the hostess had convinced him to get back in the car and drive on. He'd been satisfied with this one, waved the others to park and get out of the vehicles, so yeah, Bravo could assume the food here was acceptable and safe to eat.

It was fun to tease one another, but it was bacon from a pig and the eggs were from a hen because Clay _would_ know and he should be back by now. Time to go after him.

Sonny took a bite of what looked and smelled like bacon. "Tastes like bacon. I'm hungry, I'm eating."

"Muslims don't eat pork." Brock pointed out, half way out of his chair.

Trent shrugged, slathered what looked like jam on a croissant, took a bite. "Tastes like strawberry." Clay had chosen this café and he trusted the kid's judgement. Clay would know the right questions to ask about whether the food was food they were accustomed to eating.

"The two of you trust that kid way more….."

There was a disturbance a table or so over; sounds of chairs being moved, hushed whispers, outraged shouts.

Brock was looking over, Ray was turning to look over his shoulder when:

"You dudes lose something?" A strange, heavily accented voice asked in halted English.

Before anyone could react, such as pull a gun or get to their feet, a bear of a man was slinging something off his shoulder even as he spoke and let it fall onto the middle of Bravo's table.

Dishes scattered, glasses tipped, spilled; food flew and water flowed, but the table held. Every dish, plate, glass and mug on the table was upended. Mandy grabbed a cloth napkin, dabbed the spilt coffee and juice from her blouse and pants. Davis calmly piled large pieces of broken glass, set glasses upright, the damage to her clothing ignored.

"The hell?" Sonny complained, reached for his plate that had once held crisp bacon and was now flooded with coffee.

Trent, croissant wedged between his teeth, pushed his chair back, cursed with a sigh. He got to his feet, having already identified the dirty, smelly, bloody, mangled mess deposited onto their table. "Can't even eat a meal in peace."

Clay, sprawled on his back on the table, didn't move.

"THE HELL?" Sonny roared, standing so quickly, his chair tipped over. "WHO DID THIS?" He whirled. "Oh you better run, you sonofabitch! RUN to Egypt! I'll catch your ass!" Sonny yelled as he bolted after the man, who after depositing Clay on their table, had run away. Ray and Brock were on his heels, Davis on their ass.

Trent had a knee on the table so he could lean over Clay. "Looks worse than it is." He said over his shoulder. "Mandy, gimme your water, need a napkin."

Mandy handed both over, gathering more linen napkins, dirty or not, should Trent need them.

Eric stared at the sky, they were eating on the café's sidewalk, held a silent conversation with the good Lord above, asked; why me, what have I done, do I really deserve this?

He pulled his phone, stepped to the side, hand on the gun in the back of his jeans, eyes everywhere except on the table. Trent had the situation – Clay – well in hand and Jason was already patrolling the perimeter.

After checking Clay's pupils, Trent fisted his hand, rubbed his knuckles gently along Clay's chest, down his rib cage, back up. Clay didn't react, no hitch in his breathing, no gasps of pain, no flinches away and Trent didn't feel any shifting of bones or stab wounds.

"Wet it." Trent ordered impatiently.

She obliged, watching Trent wipe the blood and dirt from Clay's face. She was well used to bruises and blood when the guys returned from the field but she'd never really watched any of them clean up and though she knew first aid, she was impressed how quickly Trent had Clay's face and neck clean.

"Nose bleed?" She commented quietly.

"Can you pinch here?" Trent asked. "No, here. Hold tight as you can. Don't let go."

"Is it broken?"

"Not this time." He managed to continue to eat his croissant without using his hands while he worked. Mandy thought he'd focus on the bloody nose, but Trent was running his hands through Clay's hair, feeling behind his ears, splaying his fingers across Clay's neck, chin and throat.

"Anything? A lot of blood." Mandy glanced over to see Eric on the phone, moving to intercept the approaching uniformed police officers. Jason was herding people away from their table, reached out a time or two – or five – to slap cell phones out of hands.

"Head wounds bleed a lot." Trent agreed. "And he bleeds fast." Something Trent had had to get used to. His stomach no longer knotted when he saw blood anywhere on the kid. "He's gonna come around in a minute, might flail, be ready to duck."

"Is the head wound serious?"

"No."

Clay was groggy, not unconscious and as the voice above him became clear to his clogged ears, he relaxed, knowing he was safe, even if he was in a bit of pain.

"Clay?"

"Yeah." He squirmed uneasily, poked in the hip, something wedged against his shoulder, under his lower back.

"You went to wash your hands." Trent teased, felt tension ooze out of his bones, was able to breathe deeply again. "You ok? Talk to me."

"Not too comfortable, all these, uh, dishes." He raised his arm to reach for his head, waved his hand about when he couldn't gain access, both Mandy and Trent in his way. "Lemme up."

"Not ready to do that just yet." Trent tipped Clay's head up by a firm hold on his chin. "Mandy, hold this."

She bobbed her head but refrained from rolling her eyes. Trent was used to giving orders and being obeyed when in medic mode and though she could, she wasn't about to call him on it. She took her free hand and held the folded napkin against the sluggishly bleeding gash on Clay's forehead with as much pressure as she could muster with her other hand using most of her strength to pinch Clay's nose closed.

"Anything feel broken?"

Mandy coughed. Feel broken? How the hell would someone know? Pain, she guessed.

"No."

"Get mad at the sink?" Trent asked, flashlight in hand as he checked Clay's eyes.

"Uh," He blinked against the light. "Stop. I don't like that."

"How'd this happen?" Trent huffed impatiently. "You went to take a fucking piss and you get carried back by some goon looking like you were run over by a truck."

"Oh." He licked his lips. "Bubba. Where'd he go?"

"He's running to Egypt with Sonny hot on his ass." Mandy quipped.

"Bubba will outrun him." Clay winced. "Trent, come on. Seriously, the light."

"Brock's with him." Trent flicked the light off. "They'll catch him."

"How many were there?" Jason was now hanging over Trent's shoulder. "And you better say at least 5, 'cause if you got taken down by some chump and his pal, I'm gonna blister your feet." He moved to Trent's side, took over for Mandy. "Trent, he good?"

"Lemme guess." Trent nodded at Jason, reached beneath Clay, moved glasses and silverware so the kid could lay flat on the table. "There was a she."

"Lemme up." Clay slurred with a wince. Jason's pressure was much harder and tighter than Mandy's had been. "Ow, you gotta hold so hard?"

"Hey," Jason shook Clay's head by his pinch on the blonde's nose, loosened his hold just a bit when Clay muffled a curse. "Doesn't feel too good, does it? I know. Answer Trent."

"It doesn't matter." Clay sighed.

"She came from behind you," guessed Trent.

"Gonna hafta cut my hair." Clay muttered. He'd been washing his hands when she'd come out of the stall, came up behind him and tangled both hands in the back of his hair. He'd barely registered that she was a she and not a he in a men's room when she'd attacked.

"Banged your head off the sink," continued Trent. "By her hand in your hair. Dumbass."

"So, taking a piss by himself is off the list." Jason joked to Trent.

Clay squirmed, that was exactly what happened. She'd been quick and strong and knew exactly what she was doing. She'd slammed his face against the mirror hard enough to buckle his knees. When he'd staggered, she'd slammed his head against the sink twice before he managed to hit back and free himself from her grasp.

"How strong was she?" Mandy asked dryly.

"She was trained." Clay snapped. "And not alone." Two goons had appeared out of nowhere, and stunned from cracking the sink from the wall with his head, he'd been slow to fight back.

"You fought back muddled-headed." Trent motioned to Jason to turn Clay's head to the side so he could check his ear, then the other side. "Sonny catches Bubba, we owe him a beer or a knuckle-sandwich?"

"Beer." Restless, Clay raised one foot to rest his heel on the table, swung the other. "He only tried to help me."

"Gonna let you sit up." Trent said quietly. "If you're not dizzy, don't fall over or puke, gonna move you to a chair."

"K."

Clay let Trent help him sit but he could have accomplished the act on his own. He felt a bit weak, little woozy, but easily slid off the table and sat down in the chair, Jason behind him still holding the cloth against his head.

"Let go." Trent told Jason who released his pinch on Clay's nose at Trent's direction. "Swallow any blood?"

Clay turned his head and spit. "Bit maybe."

"Ever lose complete consciousness?"

"Don't think so."

"He good?" Eric came over. "Local authorities found no one involved in the attack." He shook his head. "How do you get jumped taking a piss?"

"Got a hard head." Trent replied. "No concussion but he'll have a wicked headache for a couple days."

"Days?" Clay echoed.

"Days?" Jason and Eric echoed.

"Wait," Mandy said. "No concussion? How is that possible?"

"Like when you whack your hand or knee or toe, an elbow."

"Yeah, you hurt nerves or muscle or tendons or ligaments." Mandy scoffed.

"Or maybe you just bruise it and it hurts for a couple of days." Trent found a clean napkin, wrapped some ice in it that had miraculously remained in an upright glass and had yet to melt completely, tied a knot. "For your nose." He told Clay.

"Does that really do anything?" Mandy asked.

"Gives him something to do." Trent was getting testy with all the questions. "And yes." He crouched between Clay's knees, held his chin with one hand. "How's this feel?" He gently wiggled Clay's nose, elicited a wince.

"Ouch." Clay squirmed, thigh muscles clenching to keep his butt on the chair. "OW!"

"Gonna swell." Trent commented, not quite so gruff. "Gonna have black eyes come tomorrow." He gave Clay's knee a pat, stood up. "That too cold?"

Clay held it against his nose, after a moment, shook his head. It was colder than he liked, was gonna make his forehead hurt, but he could handle it.

Trent knew him though, snagged a towel from a waiter who stood by doing nothing, wrapped the napkin of ice in it, gave it back.

"Better?" When Clay nodded, Trent moved to the side of the chair, took the cloth from Jason, waved him off to go talk to Blackburn. "Jesus Clay, did you break the fucking sink?"

"I dunno." Suddenly, he wasn't feeling so good. "Does it matter?"

"Gonna hurl?" Trent scooped some ice out of a glass. "Open." He pressed his palm against Clay's lips, let him tongue the cubes into his mouth. "Breathe through it."

"I'm good." He hunched a shoulder, ducked his head, wanting to wipe what he thought was sweat from his face.

"You will be." Trent corrected. "Don't do that. Sit there, don't move. You get up, I'll knock you out, you hear me?"

"Where are you going?" Eric asked, walked over. "We should get outta here."

"Want to see the bathroom."

"Why?" Mandy asked. "We should just go." She looked at Eric. "Can we?" He nodded. "Then let's go while we still can."

"Because if the sink gave way from the wall, he's good. If it didn't, we're going for a head scan." Trent sent Mandy a glare. "What's best for him might not be what's best for our image." He added with snark.

She glared right back. That made no sense to Mandy but neither Eric nor Jason questioned it or even acted like it was some kind of big deal, so she said nothing. Trent had his weird ways and no one ever said boo about it.

"Watch him." Trent ordered, motioned for Mandy – Jason was off again somewhere – to hold a new cloth against Clay's still bleeding head. "He tries to get up, sit on him."

She opened her mouth but Trent was gone. Clay raised a hand to feel under her palm but she tsked-tsked and pushed his hand away.

"Just sit still, we're leaving soon." Mandy said. "Guess you don't need stitches."

Jason and Eric were done doing whatever is was they'd been doing, came over to get Clay on his feet.

"Hold your head." Jason guided his hand to hold the napkin against the cut on the top of his forehead. "And keep the ice on your nose. Trent, we good?"

"I can walk by myself." Clay said nasally. "Just, which way we going?"

"Don't let him go, he'll either fall down or walk into a wall." Trent was back.

"Will not." Clay said sullenly.

"Hey Spense, what's the last 3 letters of the alphabet backwards."

"Uh, abc." He frowned. "Cbs." He paused. "Nbc."

"Good, great." Trent said sarcastically. "If I'd asked for TV networks in alphabetical order."

"I'll drive." Eric said. "Hospital? Or base infirmary?"

"Base infirmary can run a head scan." Trent said.

"My head's'k." Clay said muffled. "Don't need a…..need a…..can I lie down?"

"What about the others?" Mandy collected her purse, Davis' bag. "I'll pay the bill, meet you at the van."

"Brock has keys to the other truck." Trent said. "They'll find their way back."

"Don't let Sonny hurt Bubba." Clay pulled up short. "Good guy. He brought me back."

"I'll send him a text." Jason promised. Thank God someone had. If the kid had disappeared in the men's room, Bravo would have flipped the café, torn it apart. "This way….you good?"

"Good Christ, for the 10th time, I'm fine." Clay huffed, walking between Eric and Jason who each kept a hand on him. "The alphabet? I know the damn alphabet."

"Sing it." Trent challenged.

Clay blinked, only one eye visible amongst the cloth on his head and the ice against his nose. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star…."

"Nnnnttt," Trent obnoxiously made the sound of a buzzer. "Wrong."

"Same tune." Clay said defensively. "I'm okay Jay."

"Sure, sure." Jason opened the passenger rear door, put a hand on Clay's head, guided him down, helped him duck in and got in beside him. Mandy took shotgun, Trent got in on the other side of Clay.

"So, wanna tell me why you were targeted in a fucking public bathroom?" Jason asked as Eric pulled out.

"I dunno."

"You don't know? No idea?"

"I was washing my hands, she came out of a stall."

"You said she wasn't alone?"

"Two goons were with her."

"Did they see your gun under your shirt? Your dog tags? Anything to make them thing you were U.S. military?"

"No."

"Did they say anything?"

"Take me alive."

"You roll around in dirt?" Jason curled a lip, the kid was filthy.

"They dragged me out of the bathroom, into the alley behind the kitchen." Clay sighed.

"So, they had transport."

"Guess so. Bubba came out a door, came to help." Clay winced at a bump that jarred his head. "They just split, Bubba said his name, asked if anyone was with me….next thing, I'm on a table."

"Did they know you understood the language? What they were saying?"

"I don't know." He licked his lips, tasted blood, felt his stomach curdle. "Can this wait? The motion of the car makes my head hurt."

Jason caught Trent's eye.

"He's good Jay." Trent said quietly, checking the head wound again. "Bleeding's stopped, swelling is starting though, so yeah, he'll have one hell of a headache."

"I wanna lie down."

"Not enough room." Jason said, but that didn't deter Clay. Nope. He went sideways into Jason's lap, moved his feet until they were on the seat and across Trent's thighs. "But you go ahead, don't mind us."

"Head's cold." Clay murmured. "Don't want this no more." He tried to hand Trent the towel of ice.

"Either keep that on your nose or sit up." Trent ordered with a grin at Jason. "Ride isn't long, once you're in bed, you won't have to hold it anymore."

Mandy twisted around to observe the trio in the backseat. "He getting worse?"

Trent shook his head. "He knows he's safe now, he's gonna crash."

But Clay remained uneasy and unsettled. Either he was beyond caring about Trent's threat or he knew the medic wouldn't make good on it, because he didn't obey the ultimatum. Jason caught Trent's eye when Clay let his hand holding the ice fall away and his fingers went lax, letting the towel of ice fall to the floor.

"I got it." Jason said when Trent leaned forward and to the right.

Trent let Jason retrieve the ice, twisted to look behind the seat, snagged a flannel shirt someone had discarded. "Here." He made a pillow out of the folded shirt, covered Clay's head. "Should feel warmer."

Jason held the ice pack in place the remainder of the ride with one hand, sporadically squeezed Clay's shoulder or rubbed his back with the other.

Trent rubbed Clay's calf, felt his pulse now and again, gave his leg a shake every couple of minutes, made the kid groan until he was finally content Clay hadn't lapsed unconscious. If it any time, he didn't get a response from Clay, he would have Eric divert to the nearest hospital.

Eric remained silent, eyes more often in the rearview mirror then on the road.

()()()

It was five hours before the rest of Bravo returned to base. They saw Davis safely to Mandy then hit their quarters to catch up on what had happened while they'd been 'running to Egypt'.

Both Jason and Eric had texted all three of them to tell them Bubba wasn't the person responsible for Clay's condition so even though they caught the giant, they'd grudgingly let him go and returned to the café to ask questions, take photos, watch the surveillance cameras and get a lead on those who were – they'd brought everything back for Mandy and her computer geeks to study.

"How…." Sonny barged through the door, mouth running only to be brought up short by a hand to his chest pushing him right back out the door. "Hey now…let me in. I wanna tease powder puff….."

"Keep your voice down." Jason hissed, pushing Sonny backwards and pulling the door closed behind him.

"Why's it so dark?" Ray asked trying to see over Jason's shoulder before the gap in the door closed. "No electricity? We blow a bulb? Davis is back, she'll get us another."

"Kid's sleeping. Took Trent over an hour to get him down, any of you wake him up, you're running until dawn."

"Dude, it's the afternoon. Dawn's like fourteen hours…." Sonny stopped. "Oh." His expression dimmed and he pushed his hat back off his forehead. "Kid not okay?"

"How is he?" Brock asked quietly. They'd also been texted that Trent had taken him to the infirmary for confirmation he didn't have a concussion. He didn't. No stitches were required and unless he showed symptoms later, no need for anything more than the CT scan he'd already had.

"Has a headache." Jason explained. "Light and sound are killing him."

"Can we let him sleep?" Brock asked, drawing twin 'wtf' looks from Sonny and Ray. "We're not leaving, right? Someone tried to take him, we're not gonna let that go, are we?"

"No." Jason stated firmly. "Mandy and Blackburn are on it."

"Eh, he'll be hoppin' 'bout drivin' us nuts in no time." Sonny said with a smirk. "Right Jay?"

"He hurts Sonny, gonna be a couple of days."

"Days?" Sonny echoed.

"We were eating breakfast." Ray sighed. "How'd it turn into something like this?"

"Working on it."

"Can we go in?" Sonny asked, humor tabled for the moment.

"Keep it quiet. No lights, no phones, no noise. You call home, take it out of the room."

"Where you going?" Ray asked when Jason pushed the door open to let them in but didn't step inside.

"Command, see what Blackburn has. Be ready to gear up, we get a lead, we're on it."

"I'm tagging with you." Ray decided. "Sonny?"

"Yeah," he hesitated uncertainly. He'd been with Ray and Brock when they'd caught Bubba, had returned to the café, asked questions, gathered what little evidence they could find. He wanted to see the kid. "Guess."

"Need me, call me." Brock entered their quarters, had no hesitation about what he wanted to do. He was well aware that even though he couldn't see, Sonny flipped him off with a scowl. Sure, he could go to command with the others, but he wanted to see Clay and since Jason didn't order him to accompany them, he saw no need not to do what he wanted to.

Trent glanced up when Brock entered the room. He sat on the opposite side of the room with a tablet, the sound muted, the room devoid of all light, curtains drawn across the windows.

"How's he doing?" Brock whispered, stopping next to Clay's bed. The kid was sprawled spread-eagled on his back, a position Brock wasn't used to seeing him in. He felt for a pulse, because it's what you did when Clay wasn't doing what was normal for Clay, counted, then moved over to sit down next to Trent. "Talking to Doc?" He pointed to the tablet.

Trent wasn't as guarded with Brock as he was with the others. Was willing to relax more, reveal more, admit more. He loved and trusted his entire team, but he had a relationship with Brock that he didn't have with the others. And it mostly had to do with Clay.

With a nod, Trent turned the tablet upside down, set it aside, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Kid doesn't catch a break." He whispered. "He went to wash his hands Brock, take a piss. Wasn't looking for trouble, didn't cause any. We joke about letting him out of our sight, letting him go somewhere alone, but hell, maybe, we're on down time, we shouldn't do that."

"Sonny's gonna pummel him for letting another woman get the jump on him."

"You'd think a man raised by women wouldn't be so quick to condone violence towards them."

"No one gets attacked by women more than Clay." Brock grinned. "And he will fight back, just, not his first impulse, you know?"

"Should be." Trent confessed. "She didn't do him any favors Brock, he's suffering and there's nothing I or anyone can do to make him feel better."

"How bad?"

"Blunt force trauma, that sink hadn't parted from the wall, he's either dead or in surgery, never right again."

"So, luck."

"Either he fought back, her aim was off or she just wasn't that strong."

"Being sexist?" Brock teased to lighten the mood.

"Just saying, she had the strength of a man, two blows to the head like that and we wouldn't be here, with him whining about the light."

"Anything we can do?"

"Nope."

"Just time, huh?"

"Yup," he hesitated, glanced sideways at Brock. "Maybe, uh, stay close? Noticed he doesn't like being alone so much, when he's not feeling good."

Brock nodded, yeah, he understood. "Can he fly home?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"I'm asking you." Brock said steadily. "You don't adhere to scientific research and proven data. You know him, you know what's best for him, can he fly?"

Trent glanced across the room. "The doc who gave him the head scan says yes."

"But you say no." Brock waited. "Our Doc agrees with you."

Trent nodded. "He doesn't have a concussion but he hurt his head," now he shrugged. "He's had trouble with the pressurization on planes before. A higher altitude increases cerebral blood flow, which in turn causes venous blood engorgement and an increased intracranial pressure. That puts him at a risk for a seizure and while that might not be serious, it's scary as hell watching someone go through one."

"But not all doctors agree, right?" Brock hid a grin, Trent often lapsed into technical jargon when anxious or, you know, worried. He might not completely understand what Trent was saying, but since it was Trent saying it, Brock believed it. "What can we do?" Seizures were always serious in Brock's opinion, and no, he did not want to watch Clay have one or hold him through one.

The myth that you got sick from going outside with wet hair had long ago been debunked, but if Trent said doing so made you sick, then they didn't go outside with a wet head. In Bravo, what Trent said, went.

"Stay quiet, keep it dark, let him sleep."

"Aspirin? Ice? Anything?"

"I gave him a mild pain med given to someone with a migraine. He won't keep ice on his nose anymore, said his head is cold, but he can breathe through it, so I didn't make him."

"And no stitches?"

"Not needed. Gash is from the impact of the blow to the sink splitting his skin, just bled a lot. Steri-strips will hold it." Trent pushed to his feet. "Give it a bit, try a wet, cold cloth, not gonna force anything on him. Fill me in on what happened with Bubba."

Brock did, finished with; "Trent, can he push through it?"

Trent knew what Brock was asking. Given the opportunity – which Trent intended to make sure he got – Clay would stay in bed, sleep until his aching head, swollen nose and black eyes no longer hurt. If he were denied that opportunity, he could and would force his way to his feet and do whatever he had to without complaint.

"He doesn't have to."

Because Trent would protect him, defend him, shield him, let him have the time he needed to recover, let his body heal.

"You missed lunch," Brock said. "Go get something to eat, bring me back some soup."

"Pie or cake?"

"Cake if they have carrot."

"Keep Sonny quiet." Trent advised. "He whispers about as well as he tiptoes."

"He's an ass."

Once Trent had left, Brock went down the hall, took a shower. He wasn't long, was never a good idea to leave Clay alone, returned dressed in clean clothes, combing his hair.

"Hey." Brock entered the room, crossed to Clay's bed who was sitting up, trying to free his foot from the blanket. "What are you doing?" He whispered, laid a hand on Clay's shoulder to still his movements, free his foot.

"Gotta, uh, pee." Clay muttered, foot now free, he forgot about it, held his head between his palms. "My head's killing me."

"Yeah, about that." Brock tugged the blanket twisted around Clay's legs free. "For the next couple days, 'til your head's feeling better, I don't want you trying to get up on your own."

"I'm in trouble?"

"No." Brock said patiently. "You hurt your head, remember?"

"Uh, no." He started to shake his head, groaned, held tighter. "What'd I do?"

"Come on stand up." Brock helped him to his feet. "Feel dizzy? Wanna puke?"

"No, just….ow."

"We're keeping it dark, so how about not going anywhere on your own, okay? Someone will be close by, just call out and wait a minute 'til someone comes to get you, got me?"

"Uh, sure." He was able to stand upright without swaying or hunching over. "That way?" He pointed in the wrong direction of the door leading out of the room, extended both hands to feel his way.

"This way." Brock gently turned him in the other direction. "Keep your eyes closed, that's it."

"I don't need help." Clay huffed, tried, but couldn't open his eyes. "Memmbe I do. Why can't I see? Turn a light on."

"Can't do that." Brock said patiently. "Will make your head hurt, don't wanna walk on your knees, do you?" He caught Clay's hand when he reached for his head. "Don't touch, don't rub, don't hold."

"It's dark." Clay complained crossly. "Let go."

"Then let me lead."

Clay sighed, gave in, let Brock take his arm by the elbow, steer him from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, okay then. Now that I got this little diddle out of my head...I can attempt an idea one of you suggested.  
Well, in the next chapter...

"Can piss by myself." Clay groused when Brock followed him into the bathroom.

"Yeah, we let you do that at the café, got you back bruised and broken." He didn't add how relieved Bravo was to have gotten him back when and how they did. Had the assailants made off with the kid, Bravo would have had to return to base, dig and wait, recon and worry, plot and fret, get a lead, gear up, head out and God knows what would have happened to him by then. "You've got a security detail, deal with it."

"Nothing's broken." Clay huffed, popped the button on his jeans, engaged in a short fight with the zipper – lost – and had to submit to the humiliating act of letting Brock work the stubborn metal on the denim. Uh, security detail? The hell?!

"No?" Brock questioned lightly, pulling the zipper down as he chose to ignore the slight shaking in Clay's hands and not call him on it.

"Just…." Clay swallowed hard, suddenly flushed with sweat. "Memmbe, the….zipper."

"Hey," Brock turned Clay towards the urinals. "Trent doesn't know how you're upright and walking, taking two hits to the head like that..."

"Three." Clay held up four fingers, squinted at his hand, tried and eventually trapped his pinkie under his thumb, beamed at Brock, proud of his accomplishment. "Three."

"Three?"

"Mirror." Clay touched his nose, winced. "Sink." He touched the steri-strips holding the gash together. "Sink." He rubbed a spot between his eyebrows.

Brock cursed silently, made a mental note to discuss it with Trent. He doubted it made much difference, but Clay hadn't mentioned anything about three whacks to the doctor and Trent always wanted to know things like that.

"Your guardian angel has to be exhausted, dunno what she ever did in life to be given you, but kid, you wear her out." And us, kid, you wear us the fuck out. How did your old team ever manage? One of these days, I'm taking Trent up on his offer to track down someone from that unit, buy him a couple shots, see what we shake loose.

"Who?" Clay stared blankly, unable to follow what Brock was saying. "Yeah, I'm tired." He paused, maybe Brock meant the zipper on his jeans was worn out. "I can change." He fingered his fly. "Zipper gone bad? It busted?"

"I meant, after what you've been through, being confused and fumbling a bit is expected."

"What?"

"Pee." Brock sighed, turned sideways, crossed his arms over his chest. Oh no way in hell was he taking his eyes off Clay. Well, okay, yeah he was, but he could still slant his eyes right and see the kid should he choose. "Just...make sure you take it out first." He teased. "Your aim good?"

"Huh?"

Rationally, Brock knew there was no way Clay could disappear from the bathroom in their own quarters on a heavily guarded American military base. No, make that, he knew Clay couldn't be _taken_. In his befuddled state, Clay could easily wander away, head God knew where, so yeah, he was gonna stand right here and watch the kid pee.

Trent, Doc and the doctor at the infirmary all said Clay was okay. Would be fine in a couple of days. His nose wasn't broken, there was no concussion, his head was intact. The black eyes would fade, the swelling in his face would subside, the headache would go away, he'd be able to breathe through his nose again soon, but until that happened, no one would sleep well.

Goddammit, they'd come so fucking close to having him snatched right out from under them, that not being able to see him, made Brock anxious. He turned, gave up all pretense of giving Clay privacy.

"Brock?" Clay had shuffled over to the sink, fly neither zipped nor buttoned.

"Yeah?" He moved over to turn the faucet on, took Clay's wrist, extended his hand, palm up, dispensed soap.

"I don't feel….right." Clay washed his hands, held them under the hot, running water because the heat felt good.

"You smacked your head pretty good."

"Ow."

"Yeah." Brock agreed with a grin. "Ow." He turned off the water.

"I, uh….can't really see." Clay held his hands out for Brock to dry with a paper towel.

"Your nose is swollen, making your eyes black and puffed closed."

"Yeah, can't really breathe." Clay sighed. "Dark though."

"Cause light makes it worse for you." Brock explained, thinking Sonny lacked the patience to deal with Clay when he was like this. With any of them. "I can turn the lights on, see how you do." He tossed the paper towel, reached for Clay who held his hand out. Brock ducked his head, grinned, took Clay by his wrist.

"No." Clay said quickly. He rubbed his forehead, temples pounding sickly against his eyebrows. He wondered, if he shaved them off, if whatever was knocking to get out, escaped, his head would stop throbbing. "Uh, time are we flying out?"

"We're not."

"Why?" He frowned, palm against his forehead. He didn't at all feel like gearing up and heading out. "Ray..he wanted to…didn't he..." He was ready to ask for a razor, got distracted when Brock spoke.

"Because someone tried to take you Clay."

"Take me? Who wants to take me? Take me where? I don't wanna go any where. Bed, maybe. I'm with you, so…" He stopped. "Aren't I?"

"Doesn't matter. Someone knew you were U.S. military and tried to take you. Not letting that go. Doesn't matter who it was they tried to take, we're on it."

"Okay, but…" He took a breath, dug deep, past his discomfort and cloud of haze. "Echo's coming, let them…"

"Have you met Jason?"

Right. No one took what belonged to Jason Hayes.

"Right." He licked his lips, trapped his tongue against his bottom one with his teeth. All he felt like doing was laying down and sleeping, wondered if he could beg off heading out with his team, decided against it. "We gearing up?"

"No." Brock said firmly. "And when we do, you're not going."

"Uh, yeah, yeah I am."

"You're staying here."

"Brock, I'm okay." He met his teammate's eyes, his gaze clear, focused and steady. I'm good."

And Brock knew he would be, was, if he had to be.

"H, I, J, K…?" Brock chanted.

"F?" His brow furrowed, Clay blinked at the abrupt change in subject.

"L." Brock took Clay's elbow, started to lead him towards the door. "Yeah, you're okay." He added sarcastically. "Come on, only place you're going is back to bed."

"JFK." He insisted as he tried to follow what Brock was asking, saying, doing.

"Is a dead president, not the next letter of the alphabet."

Clay gave up, let the knocking in his head, in. All ability to focus or follow or concentrate was lost. He trailed Brock back to their room where he obediently drank from a bottle of water, then obeyed Brock's suggestion – order – to lie down.

Brook picked Clay's foot up by the ankle, pressed his knees together, propped Clay's heel on his thighs, unlaced his boot, pulled it off, tossed it aside, put his foot back on the bed, repeated the process with his other foot.

He reached for Clay's jeans which were loose, tugged by the hem. "Lift your ass." He tossed the dirty denim aside. "Roll left, pull your knees up...both of them, that's it...now slide your feet." He helped Clay get under the blankets. He drew the line at labeling it 'tucking him in'.

It'd been nearly, what, seven, eight hours since they'd returned to the base and Clay wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, might as well make him comfortable. Someone had cleaned him up, probably a nurse at the infirmary, but still, he needed a shower, clean clothes. He wondered why Trent had let him come back from the infirmary and go to sleep, dirty and clothed, but knowing Trent, he'd probably decided since Clay was able to sleep, he could clean up later. "Want some ice?"

"Makes me cold."

Brock chuffed over the slurred, slow words. "How about an ice pack? Huh?" He took an instant pack from one of Trent's duffel's, squeezed to activate it, picked up a pillow. "Keep the pillow right there." He adjusted it slightly so that it covered Clay's forehead, eyes and top of his nose only. "Shouldn't be too cold with the pillow, get some sleep."

"Get me up…..when it's time."

"Sure." Brock lied, gave Clay's foot an affectionate squeeze, sat down to watch him fall asleep while he waited.

Trent returned with soup and cherry pie, set both on a desk across the room from where Clay slept. He immediately noticed the discarded boots and jeans but made no comment.

"No cake, huh?" Brock got up from his bunk to join Trent. "Thanks."

"He get up?"

"Took him to the head, doesn't like light, doesn't know the alphabet, didn't want ice." He took a bite of pie, waved his fork in Clay's direction. "Settled down with an ice pack on a pillow."

"He'll wake up when the others come back." Trent sat down to eat with Brock. "We'll be rolling soon, eat while we can."

"He, uh, needs a shower."

Trent sighed, nodded. "I know, just…we got back, he was so tired, just wanted to lie down. Didn't wanna make him get up again."

Brock nodded. Yeah, he understood that. "He said his head was whacked three times."

"Three?" Trent's mind whirled. Two injuries, but three hits were entirely possible.

"Mirror, sink, sink." Brock quoted with a grin. "Thinking face to the mirror accounts for the nose."

Trent nodded. "Two hits to the sink. Second one split his skin open."

"Make much difference?"

Trent shook his head. "Good to know though. Means she wasn't that strong. If she hadn't had back up, he'd have been able to subdue her." He'd call Doc soon as he could, but a now known third hit to his head, didn't change anything. "Make Sonny happy to know that."

Half an hour later, the door swung open.

"Hey," Sonny barged into the room, ignored Ray's advice to venture forth slowly and quietly. "Where's Tinkerbelle?"

He was hit in the face with a boot. He caught it one-handed, let it thud to the floor with a soft thump.

"The fuck was that for?" Sonny demanded in an outraged whisper. "The hell?"

"Keep your voice down."

"I'm whispering!"

"Then use sign language."

Sonny flipped Brock off, stomped over to Clay's bed. He meant to wake the kid up, make sure he was doing okay, but he stopped short, seeing, now that he was close enough to see in the dim light, Clay was sprawled on his back.

"The hell's this?"

"Headache."

"The hell that have to do with why he's on his back?" Sonny squatted down to see better in the dim light. Clay didn't move, stretched out to all four corners of the bed, blanket over his legs to his waist. Sonny blinked, feeling a sudden, odd urge to slide a finger into Clay's relaxed hand with the palm to the ceiling, see if his fingers would curl Sonny's, hold tight.

"His head hurts." Trent whispered impatiently. "Leave him alone."

"Then give him some aspirin."

Trent rolled his eyes, felt Brock kick him under the table. Yeah, like he hadn't thought to give Clay anything for his head.

"He. Broke. A. Sink. With. His. Head. Sonny."

"I know that!" Sonny sputtered, hands waving. "He never sleeps on his back."

Trent tossed his cards, he was losing to Brock anyway. "He sleeps in whatever position is comfortable."

"Flat on his back?" Sonny wondered, pulled up a chair, sat down. "That ain't like him."

"For whatever injury he has." Brock finished. "It's easier for him to breathe, now come away from him."

Sonny guffawed, making Clay stir in protest of the noise.

"Sonny, I swear to God, if you wake him up," Trent threatened, stood up. He'd thought Clay would wake up when the others returned but he hadn't and now Trent just wanted him to continue sleeping.

Sonny blinked, oh okay then, Trent wasn't kidding. He wheeled away from Clay's bed, joined Trent and Brock by the window as Trent sat back down.

"Thought he was ok." Sonny said seriously. "No concussion, no puking, coherent. Jason said so."

"His head hurts." Brock explained. "Sensitive to light and noise."

"Can't breathe through his nose." Trent added. "Learn anything in command?"

"Yeah, Mandy has a lead….waiting for the go to gear up. From what she and Randy can piece together, they knew Clay was U.S. military, dunno how yet or what they wanted him for, still working on it. We bring them in, we'll find out more." Sonny looked across the room, it wasn't usual to see Clay so quiet and still. He didn't like it.

"Our job here was done." Ray turned to Trent. "We were supposed to fly home later today, would we be, we weren't going after who tried to grab him?"

"You could if you wanted to." Trent replied. "But him?" He pointed at Clay, shook his head. "No."

It was getting to be a habit Blackburn was having a hard time justifying to the upper brass, Bravo not flying home on schedule, because when they could, they all preferred to fly together.

"Doc say that, or you?" asked Sonny seriously.

"Base doc says he's cleared to fly." Trent answered. "Doc says no."

"How long?"

"Until he can move around, tolerate light. Couple of days."

Sonny nodded. "Roger that."

It was a only an hour or so later when the call came to report to command. Bravo was being sent out to capture the trio who had attempted to take one of their own.

"No, not you." Brock scolded gently when Clay tried to sit up. "Stay put." He set a cell phone on the stand between the beds. "You need anything, speed dial 1, okay?"

"But….we going out?"

"No, go back to sleep."

Clay wanted to argue, insist if his team was going out, then he was going too, but the mere motion of rolling his head on the pillow had him closing his eyes and pulling a pillow over his face.

"Ya need me," he swallowed, nose stuffed. "I'll come after you."

And the thing was, they knew he would.

()()()

Bravo was gone longer than anyone thought the snatch and grab would take. The stronghold they tracked the trio to was reinforced with more combatants than thought. It took a gun fight, a forceful entry and hand-to-hand combat before being able to subdue and apprehend who they were after.

"Nothing's ever easy." Eric muttered to Lisa, watching the movements via ISR. "How the hell are they so fortified and we didn't know it?"

"You didn't want to wait." Mandy retorted.

Hands on hips, Eric stared Mandy down. She stood her ground, waited.

"And if we had? And missed the opportunity to grab them?" Eric asked, tone both commanding and confrontational. "Life with Sonny would be unbearable and Jason...? You want that?"

Mandy turned her back. No. No, she didn't want that. She wanted whoever had tried to take Clay just as much as Bravo did, but she didn't want anyone getting hurt because of rushed or incomplete intel.

"HAVOC, target secured." Ray came over the radio. "Clearing site and returning to exfil."

"Roger that, Bravo 2." Davis replied, high-fived Eric. "Good to go."

***000***

Clay struggled into a half sitting, half slumping position on his bed, shoulder against the wall. He was thirsty and nothing to drink was on the table next to his bed. There was a phone, but he didn't think wanting a drink of water warranted hitting 'speed dial 1'.

Annoyed, he huffed. _That_ he remembered, but he couldn't remember what had happened to make him feel the way he did…which was, like shit.

As he sat on his hip, wondering why the mere thought of actually getting up made him cringe, he gradually became aware that both his head and his belly hurt, but he wasn't nauseated or dizzy. Not even queasy. Fuzzy-headily, he decided the pain in his belly was from hunger, slid his feet to the floor, pushed to the edge of the mattress, sat. His ears weren't ringing, he didn't feel like he wanted to tip forward or fall sideways, so he cautiously pushed to his feet.

Yeah, no. Nope. Not happening.

Soon as he lost the support of the bed, his head tilted him left and he stumbled to catch his weight before he hit the floor. Already falling left, he found no support to prevent his descent, hit the mattress face first. You'd think falling onto a mattress that was so soft and welcoming when willingly crawling into it, wouldn't feel like your nose just smacked into a concrete wall when falling on it, but you'd be wrong.

He howled at the impact of swollen, bruised nose against deceptively soft, comfortable mattress and tears welled. He somehow managed to raise his knee from the floor and crawl completely onto the mattress before his strength and coordination failed. Exhausted and disoriented, nose pulsating sickly into his eye sockets, he collapsed on his belly, flapped a hand about for the pillow, didn't find it, gave up.

His nose was trickling blood and he couldn't breathe. Bloodied by a mattress. Christ, the guys would never let him hear the end of the teasing.

He was cold. Wanted under the blankets. But despite no matter which way he rolled or how high he lifted his hips from the mattress or how hard or how many times he clutched and pulled and yanked the blankets, he couldn't get under them.

Fuck.

Little by little, one finger, toe, foot, leg, hip at a time, he accomplished the herculean feat of rolling over onto his back. He wanted the pillow because just that slight elevation made it easier for him to breathe. Unable to find it or make the blankets obey, and because no one was there calling his name, telling him to stay with them, slapping his cheek or telling him not to, he submitted to the shadows tugging at the edges of his vision, went with them willingly.

His throbbing nose and aching head, won. Hunger and thirst forgotten, he knew no more.

()()()

"And this Sonny," Trent paused, door knob in hand, the rest of the team crowded against his back. "Is why we don't leave him alone."

"Lemme see." Sonny whispered about as quietly as a two-year-old demanding a forbidden cookie. He nudged Trent forward who stubbornly resisted taking the first step that would allow the rest of the team to spill into the room. "Move, you big oaf. Hey Spenser for hire! We're baccc….pphhff." He grunted when Trent dug an elbow into his gut. "The hell…..uumpphff!" His words were muffled when Brock, who was behind him, clamped a hand over his mouth rendering the rest of his diatribe intangible.

Having pushed past everyone, Ray frowned. "He's still on his back." In his mind, if Clay would sprawl on his stomach or his usual half belly, half side position, then they could, you know, fly home in the morning.

"Why's he backwards in bed?" Sonny asked. "He's upside down. You leave him like that?"

"Yeah Sonny, it's how we left him." Brock snarked. "Probably tried to get up. Keep your voice down."

"Get up?" Sonny repeated. "To do what? We told him to stay put."

"Like you Sonny, he never does what he's told." Trent glared. "Keep your voice down or get out."

Sonny rolled his eyes, huffed, but sat down on his bunk, said nothing.

Trent held a pen-light, leaned over the bed, thumbed up Clay's eye lid. To his experienced eye, Clay was paler then when they'd left. Skin crinkled around his eyes and mouth, signs of discomfort, pain.

"It's been hours Trent." Ray had his computer in his hands. "Shouldn't he have slept it off? Be feeling better by now?"

"Come here." Trent's tone wasn't friendly, he stuck the flashlight between his teeth, waggled a hand in Ray's direction. "Lemme bounce your face off the wall, see how fast you sleep it off." He reached over to the closest bunk, tugged the blankets free, spread them over Clay. Dressed in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, the kid was shivering, had goose-bumps.

"Lose the attitude." Ray warned. "No need to bite my head off. I want to fly home tomorrow, that okay with you?"

"Who said you couldn't?" Trent checked the other eye. Clay was stirring now, pulled his head away, slapped ineffectively at Trent's arm. "Not putting him through that yet."

"Echo's here to take up the mission, no need for us to stay." Ray hedged. Clay was okay if miserable, the people responsible for his condition were in custody, Echo would take up the fight and Ray wanted to go home, see his kids, his wife. His daughter was going to be in a school play, if he left at dawn, he could be home in time to catch the performance.

"No one's stopping you from leaving Ray." Trent hadn't lost the attitude. "You wanna go, go. Take Sonny with you, it'll be quieter around here."

"Hey now, don't go dragging me into your squabble." Sonny objected. "I just be sitting over here, why pick on me?"

The blankets tucked over Clay up to his shoulders, Trent squatted beside the bunk, rubbed his arms, chest, belly to help him warm up. Whether or not it was an effective gesture didn't matter. It made Trent feel better to do it.

"Because you can't keep your mouth shut." Brock eased the pillow under Clay's head. "Bull in a china shop, you just can't not make noise."

Sonny opened his mouth to argue, closed it, glared. They wanted him to be quiet? Fine! Go ahead, ask him a question, he'd freaking find pen and paper to scrawl out his answer. Let them try and read his handwriting. See how well they liked that!

"Don't boot up in here." Trent told Ray. "Take it outside."

"Say what now?" Ray raised an eyebrow, not used to his medic giving orders about what could and couldn't be done in quarters. "You wanna try that again?"

Trent sighed, motioned to Brock, raised to his full height, pocketed the flashlight, turned to confront his team's 2IC.

"Ray, I don't care how long it's been and just because you feel he should have slept it off by now, doesn't mean he did. It's not gonna happen like that. It's gonna be days. You ever had your bell rung so hard? I have. I had a good medic and Clay's gonna get the same care I did."

"There's no injury, no concussion," began Ray hotly.

"So, he's faking it?" Trent was ready for battle, but before that would happen, he'd drag Ray out of the room by his ear. "Three whacks to his head Ray, let's see how you feel after one."

They both knew Trent was a hell of a lot stronger than the woman who had attacked Clay, even if he pulled his punch, it would still hurt like hell.

"Ray," Jason squeezed his shoulder, Eric was with him. "Wheel's up at 0600, you wanna be on the plane, be on it."

"He's seen a doctor Jason, he's had tests. He's medically cleared to fly."

"They don't know him." Brock interjected. "We do."

"He's not flying." Trent poked Ray in the chest. Ray slapped his hand down - a clear warning he wasn't happy.

"Ray." Eric spoke up, tone quiet and calm. "I called Doc back home. He's talked to the doctors here, seen the scans. Clay's gonna be fine but the only thing that's going to make him feel better is ice, rest, meds and time. He's not flying anywhere until Trent says he's ready. He can choose to stay with him if he wants, but the rest of you are on the flight come morning."

"How long, you think?" Jason asked Trent.

"With him?" Trent shrugged. "It's Clay, so…three days?"

Brock was quiet. Whether or not he went home depended on how good a night Clay had. So far, all the kid had done was sleep, but Brock wondered how he was going to feel, when he didn't sleep so much. Katie would understand, she learned he'd been able to return home and didn't.

Brock caught Eric's eye. "He has a bad night, I'm staying."

Sonny mentally gave himself a kick. Blackburn was likely to let one of them stay with Trent to babysit and if he'd thought to say it first, it could be him.

"Won't Katie be expecting you home?" He tried to give Brock an easy out. "Like, yesterday?"

"Yup. She'll understand."

"I expect the rest of you to be on the plane." Eric said pointedly. "You too Brock, he sleeps through the night."

"Ray, come on." Jason coaxed. "Bring your laptop, we'll check in with Mandy, see how her interrogation is going, then you can call home."

"This isn't over."

"Get out." Trent pointed to the door. "Go. Come back when you're in a better mood."

Jason sighed, tiredly rubbed his brow. "Trent, not helping."

"Can...you guys...be quiet?" Clay asked sleepily. "Ya'll...makin'...my head...hurt."

"They were just leaving." Trent said pointedly.

Eric took the hint, left with Jason and Ray. Sonny remained on his bed, lingered, not sure whether he wanted to join Jason, shower, or get something to eat.

"Aspirin." Clay winced, pressing the heels of both hands against his head just above either ear. "Man."

Trent frowned, it'd been hours, long enough that he thought Clay would at least be able to tolerate noise without wincing and hitched breathing.

"Bit stronger than aspirin." Trent shook two pills out of a bottle. "Sit up a bit. Can you swallow okay?"

Clay eased up on one elbow, held out a palm for the pills. "With water."

Brock handed him a bottle, simply stared after Clay popped the pills in his mouth and guzzled the water.

"Why'd you get up?" Trent was asking. So, the kid was thirsty. Might help explain the headache if he'd gone all day without having much to drink.

"I didn't...did I?"

"Turned around in bed. You get up? Fall?"

Clay finished the water, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, laid back down. "Couldn't find the pillow. Cold." He stretched his legs out. "Can't breathe."

"Ice would help, you'd keep it on your nose."

"Makes me cold." He reached for the blanket, found coarse material, held tight, twisted the fabric in his fist. "Uh, stomach ached." His eyes were closed. He tried to breathe through his nose, whined when he couldn't, licked lips chapped from breathing through his mouth. Brock sat down on the bed near Clay's feet, didn't try to break Clay's hold. "Thought, memmbe, I was...hungry."

Sonny, Brock and Trent looked at the wall clock then the watch on their wrist.

Shit, Trent thought. He'd gone and failed the kid this day. They all had. Ordered him to stay put then had gone and left him alone with no water, nothing to eat, no one to check on him. Clay had been jumped around 7 that morning at breakfast that he'd never had a chance to eat. He'd missed lunch and it was well past dinner time. So yeah, the kid hadn't had anything to eat in well over twenty-four hours.

"I'm on it." Sonny whispered, got to his feet. "Uh, anything go?"

"Nothing spicy." Trent offered. "Tomato soup, grilled cheese. No teeth are loose, but his whole face is sore."

"Swollen." Sonny corrected, lingered with a backwards look, left. The door shut with a soft snick.

"Okay." Brock held a zippered hoodie. "Sit up." Clay struggled up, accepted assistance from Brock, who, for whatever reason, was sitting on his bed. "Okay, okay, that's good. Arms up." He worked Clay's arm into a sleeve, Trent the other. Clay rolled left, let Trent zip the hoodie up to his chin. "You'll warm up soon. How you feeling?"

"Been worse." Clay admitted. "Been better."

"You got nowhere to go."

"Spense? Hey, one, two..."

"Buckle my shoe."

Brock patted Clay's knee, ruffled his hair when his befuddled expression turned from proud to confused at the burst of laughter from Trent who had been angling for; three, four.

"Yeah, okay." Trent said with a chuckle.

The door opened and Clay roused to the smell of food that Sonny carried through the door.

"Turn around, sit still." He was told. "You can eat right there."

Back against the wall, pillow on his lap, he inhaled the wonderful aroma of soup. He might not be able to breathe through his nose, but he sure as hell could smell and nothing ever smelled as good as that soup, right then, right now. He cupped the cardboard container, 'aahed' over the welcoming warmth, raised it to his lips.

"Good." He sighed in contentment then winced as the salty, hot liquid stung his lips. "Ow."

"Dip."

Clay stared into the disposable bowl, knitted his brow. Dip? Dip what?

"Hey," someone tapped his knee, diverted his attention to his lap. "Eat this while it's hot."

His vision was fine, but his coordination remained a bit off so it took him three tries to pick up the triangle sitting in a white Styrofoam container on his lap.

Had he had that problem picking up the soup? He didn't think so, but he couldn't remember. Maybe it had been handled to him, hell he didn't know and it wasn't worth trying to figure it out.

His wrist was held, guided until the triangle of light brown bread between his finger and thumb touched the soup, then raised it to his mouth. His tongue darted out to taste.

Butter. Cheese. Toast.

"Just eat." Brock said quietly when Clay started to ask a question. He didn't know whether it was about the food or where the team had been or what they'd found out. "Finish what you can, go back to sleep, 'k."

Clay finished the first triangle of bread, picked up a second. His mind was fuzzy, but he welcomed the attention.

"You..." He chewed, swallowed. "We..." He took another bite, drank some soup. "Guys staying in?"

"I'm taking a shower, but Sonny will be here." Brock said. "Trent's not far away, okay? Now, finish eating."

***000***

Jason rose to his feet when his Lt. Commander beckoned with a slight nod of his head. He crossed the room, stopped next to Eric who reached for the knob on a side door.

"I need a minute." Eric mouthed, glanced across the assorted personnel in the room, opened the door and stepped through.

Jason shrugged, followed Eric into a small, windowless room lacking electronics. What now?

Eric pulled an envelope from a pocket, held it out to Jason who didn't take it.

"Not gonna like this, am I?"

Eric was quiet, didn't duck from Jason's direct gaze. "I don't like this." He admitted.

"Just spit it out." Jason said tersely. "From who?"

"The Captain of Clay's Seal Team 3."

"No."

"I'm stalling, seeking more information."

"About what? What does he want?"

"Clay."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My usual...medical blah, blah, blah.

Trent returned with a wet, warm hand towel, handed it to Clay who just stared at the offering, didn't reach to take it.

"Wipe your face." Trent instructed. "Got blood on your lip. You hit your nose? Bleeding a bit."

Clay sighed, took the rag, wiped his face, held it against his nose, pinched. "Think so. I dunno." He touched the skin beneath his nose. "Maybe." He cast a dubious gaze at the mattress. "Wait, yeah?" His forehead wrinkled. "No."

"Still hungry?" Brock asked, the soup was gone and only one triangle of four remained.

Clay shook his head, handed off the empty carboard bowl to Trent, let Brock take the Styrofoam container, pushed the pillow off his lap.

Trent waited but when Clay didn't move to get up, said; "Want a shower?"

Clay was quiet. No, he didn't want a shower. He didn't feel up to balancing on a slippery floor wondering where the water was coming from, trying to decide if it were too hot or too cold. His head strongly advised him to forget about standing up and getting out of bed to appease his bladder and to satisfy his desire – that he didn't have a second ago – for hot water and soap, and to keep his sore, aching body with its bloody nose right where it was – in bed.

But of course, he didn't.

"Don't need security." Clay groused, sliding to the edge of the bed and putting both ankles off the mattress. "Can piss by myself." He didn't try to stand. "Just….which, uh, way'm I goin'?"

"Say what?" Trent looked at Brock for an explanation.

"Told him we weren't letting him out of our sights." Brock finished the last of the grilled cheese. "Every time we do, we lose him or he gets attacked by some random fraction fighting for a cause, so yeah, he has a security detail"

Clay huffed. "Christ." He spread his knees and peered between them, looking for the floor. Were his feet touching it? Could he see it? Was that it? What color was it anyway?

"Not slurring his words as much. Swelling's down. I can actually see his blue eyes." Brock noted to Trent, tapped Clay atop his head. "What's 144 divided by 4?"

"36." Clay replied without thought, waggled a foot, rotated his ankle. Where was the fucking floor? How high was this damn bed anyway? Was he on the top bunk? He tilted his head back, quickly brought it even again. Yeah, don't look up. Ceiling wasn't right above him anyway.

"Math?" Trent demanded, hands on hips. "You give him a math question?"

"Hey, you did." Brock shot back.

"And he came up with a nursery rhyme." Trent argued. "I wanted him to count!"

"And I wanted him to divide!"

Clay sat, listened to them bicker good-naturally. Tension only seemed to seep between them when Ray took a side. Or maybe Clay was just irritated with Ray. He hadn't completely understood the brief argument between Trent and Ray, but he had registered Trent's tone and knew he was at the center of whatever they disagreed about.

So yeah, he was gonna be mad at Ray for pissing off Trent.

Not bothering to interrupt them, after more wiggling and scooting, he finally touched the floor, pushed to his feet. He expected to be lightheaded or dizzy but amazingly, his head remained clear though he did find that he tended to tilt left.

"Head hurt?" Trent asked, chucking the empty food containers into a trash can. "Going somewhere?" He watched Clay pinwheel slightly with his hands to gain his balance.

"Bit, yeah." He hunched a shoulder, rubbed his temple against the hoodie. "Uh, aches some still. Not as bad though." He paused. "Gonna take…..." He took a step, then another. "…a leak and you said…shower."

"Should be feeling better." Brock commented. "Been sleeping all day."

"Gonna sleep for a couple of days before he starts to feel more himself." Trent advised.

"Yeah?" Clay moved towards the door. The room was dim and quiet and though it was difficult to concentrate, he could force his thoughts into focus if he really wanted to. "Couple aspirin, I'll be good."

"Careful opening that door." Trent warned. "Lights in the hallway." Aspirin! Pfftt! What he was giving Clay for his headache was a bit stronger than aspirin. It was meds for a migraine because, Trent had learned that for whatever reason, Clay responded to such meds even though he had no history of ever suffering a migraine.

Clay waved him off. Brock caught Trent's eye who shrugged.

"Might want to shield your….." Trent began as Clay flung open the door, got a face full of bright lights, and went to his knees with a howl. "….eyes." He finished with a sigh. What happened is what he'd expected. By morning, Clay would be able to tolerate light, but right now? No, not right now. "And this is why we don't want you doing anything by yourself."

Brock moved forward to help Clay to his feet, close the door. He had a hand on the door when it swung open, knocking his hand aside and smacking Clay, still on his knees, right in the face, the edge of the door catching his nose.

"Dammit Ray!" Brock cursed as Clay yelped, doubling forward and clutching his face with cupped hands, nose bleeding between his fingers. "The hell you doing!?"

Trent crouched beside Clay, laid a hand on his back, let him rock, elbows tucked in. Waited to see if he would succumb to the pain and pass out. As it was, he was pleased Clay hadn't been knocked out cold by the door.

"Entering my quarters."

"Have you learned nothing living with him?" Trent accepted the earlier discarded towel from Brock. "Someone get some ice."

Sonny, on Ray's heels, spun around in the hallway, went off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ray demanded.

"It means, you don't go barging into his room when he's hurt or sick or medicated." Brock said, disappointed with Ray's attitude. "You want to go home, you blame him you aren't already there, we get it. Leave in the morning, just be gone."

"The doctor said he could fly." Ray returned calmly. "And I wanted who tried to take him just as badly as you did. I want to know why he was targeted."

"The doctor doesn't know him. You have any idea how hard it is to keep him hydrated? You should by now. Flying with him is too great a risk, he dehydrates too fast."

Brock shot Trent a dark look, he hadn't said anything before about dehydration being a risk. Where had that come from? And what the hell did it mean?

"He's not vomiting or showing any signs of complications." Ray continued to remain calm. "And it's my room as well."

"Yeah well, maybe we should go back to you and Jason having separate quarters." Trent muttered, trying and failing to make Clay straighten up. "Lemme see dumb ass. Let go."

Clay moaned, fought against the attempt to remove his hands. Sitting on his knees, he let his ankles splay and his ass hit the floor between them, seeking stability.

"I didn't barge in anywhere. The door was open, I pushed it further, that's all I did." He wasn't any too happy with the recent attitude he'd been receiving from Bravo's normally quiet duo. "Why was he on the floor?"

"Use a little care, you know?" Brock stood opposite Trent, Clay between them. "Enter quietly, slowly. Remember this morning?" He caught Trent's eye, took hold of Clay's elbow. "One, two…." On three, he and Trent lifted Clay off his knees, each holding an elbow. "Put your feet down…" They gave him a shimmy-shake, lifted him higher. "….your foot….no, you can't sit. Stand on your feet….both of them….no…hey, no. Come on. Stand up."

Clay uncurled slowly, tried to straighten up as he found the floor with his feet, slumped left towards Brock only to be shoved back towards Trent who put a palm on his chest. He allowed the hold, accepted the support. His head too heavy to hold up, his ear found Brock's shoulder.

"Sit for a minute." Trent encouraged gently when Clay resisted their efforts to back him up to his bunk so he could sit down. "Hey, come on." He bucked a knee into the back of Clay's thigh, kicked his foot forward. Brock easily held Clay's weight when he buckled. "Sit."

The hell! They'd just told him to stand up. He tried to think, tried to breathe, was forced to pant through his mouth. His head hurt. His nose…ow. He tried to grasp what was going on, but failed. Nothing came to him; not where he was or why or who was with him. He heard voices, not words. He could see, but couldn't identify what he saw.

He sat with a hard _thwump_ that clacked his teeth and jounced his hands against his nose.

"Mmmm." Clay groaned, shuddering restlessly. Something cold and wet was laid across the back of his neck and he muttered nonsense in protest, becoming more aggressive in his attempts to shrug free from a secure hold that only seconds ago had been comforting but was now constricting.

"Leave off."

He hunched his shoulders as he broke out in goosebumps, tried to dislodge it by shaking and twisting, even spared a hand from his nose, was stopped. A hand tangled in his hair, gently brought his head up, both hands once again holding his face.

"You're good," his fingers were pried apart and something heavy, wet and colder than he liked was held against the back of his hands over his nose. Sonny was back and Trent applied the tied towel of ice. "Yeah, you don't like it, I know. Tuff shit. Now, keep your eyes closed."

_They are closed. Aren't they? Must be, 'cause I can't see._

"…..pain will ease." Trent went on. "Ray whacked you with a door….."

_Right, my head. It hurts. So does my nose. Who did what to me?_

"…the room's as dark as I can make it….."

_Aah, that's why I can't see._

"….soon as the bleeding stops….."

_Yeah, my hands are warm and wet…so, blood, eh? _

"…..and I make sure you aren't exhibiting any of the symptoms that would identify a brain injury…"

_Brain injury? _ _Who has a brain injury? ME? I DO?! Since when?_

"…..'less the whack gave you a concussion…"

_Concussion? Pfft, my headache's from getting whacked with a door. You just said so._

"….I'll check for signs…"

_Signs? Signs of what? The ten drummers drumming on my skull? Yeah, hey, I can show you were to find them. _He twitched a couple fingers._ Right the fuck here._

"…..from what I can see, even eyes….that's good." Trent tipped Clay's head up further, left his hands holding his nose. "Look at me."

_I have two! What the hell else are they supposed to be?_

"How's he supposed to look at you, his eyes all swollen like that?" Sonny complained.

"Shut it Sonny." Trent barked. "Clay, hey….I need you to look at me. Okay? Can you do that?"

"He's confused." Sonny went on. "Why isn't he with it?"

Clay moaned, moved his hands to cover either ear in an attempt to hold his skull together.

"Don't swallow, spit." Trent coached. "Look. At. Me."

Clay didn't want to, so he didn't.

"Not asking you to open your eyes," Trent was saying, "Just want you to look at me."

Clay frowned, swollen cheeks ballooning up like a hamster stowing a carrot to carry back to its nest. Hands still over his ears, elbows coming together in front of his chest, he carefully turned his head to face Trent.

"That's it." Trent said encouragingly. "Tell me what's wrong with your ears."

Clay licked cracked, split lips with a tongue coated with white film. Trent cursed, told Sonny to find some water.

"My….'ead." Clay muttered thickly. "Split…in…two…just…" He winced, bit his lip when his breath hitched. "…holdin' it 'gether."

"What'd he say?" Brock asked, watched Trent try and see why Clay was now holding his ears. He tried to press a towel against Clay's nose but the kid wasn't having it, pushed Brock's hand away. "Hold his head together?" It was his turn to frown, pause. "Any of that blood from his ears?"

Trent took the towel from him, shook his head. "Don't think so. Grab his wrists, hold his hands, I'm trying to check."

At first, Clay resisted the pull on his hands, but the hold wasn't abusive and thumbs rubbed soothing circles against his wrists until he relaxed, so he let his hands be guided to his lap.

"Need a light?" Brock asked as Trent took the towel he'd just dropped, used it to wipe the blood from Clay's ear, inserted a knuckle into his canal and rubbed gently.

"I don't wanna put him back on his knees." Satisfied Clay wasn't bleeding from his right ear, Trent moved around him to repeat the process on his left ear. "Don't think he'll tolerate it."

"He's already sitting down." Ray couldn't help but point out the obvious.

"Ow." Clay flinched, when Trent, who now had access to his bloody nose, took hold gently and gave it a waggle. "OW!" He ass lifted off the mattress. "AAH!" His hands left his lap, went for his nose, but Trent caught them, gave them back to Brock to hold. "Owowowowowo….OW!"

"I know." Trent pushed him back onto the mattress, ignored the fresh gush of blood, the others in the room. He checked Clay's nose, his eyes, his teeth, his ability to breathe – felt Sonny's breath on the back of his neck. "Sonny, back off."

"Lot o' blood there, Quincy." Sonny drawled, moved back so Trent could haul Clay to his feet. "Need help?"

"I've got him." Brock said. "Come on Spense. Keep your eyes closed, we're going for a walk."

"Leaving?" Ray taunted. "Gonna take your pillow and sleep somewhere else? Bit childish, don't you think?"

"Right, right. Not gonna clean him up or nothing. Gonna just leave him in bed, looking like this." Trent nodded, shooting daggers with his gaze narrowed. "Still gotta piss Clay? Pee on the floor, Ray here will clean it up." He took the bottle of water from Sonny, put it in a pocket.

"Yeah, 'cause you know, he wasn't up and trying to walk out the door before you smashed his face with it." Brock added.

"You two are out of line." Ray crossed his arms. "I had no way of knowing he'd be out of bed." He took a step forward. "And he was already on the floor. Why's that again?"

"Bugger off." Trent sniped.

"Hey." Jason pushed Ray aside, entered the room. "Something I gotta get in the middle of?"

"All's good." Sonny said with a fake chuckle. "Taking homeboy here for a walk, is all."

Jason focused on Clay, blood past his wrists to his elbows, Brock holding the towel of ice over his still bleeding nose. "Clean him up, bring him back."

"Yeah, don't think so." Trent shot back. "Grill him in the morning Boss, he's no good to you right now."

Jason eyed his rookie, asked with a tired sigh. "He need the infirmary?"

"I'll let you know."

"W'at?" Clay moaned nasally, coughed, groaned. "I…."

"Spit." Trent ordered, held a towel to Clay's mouth when he parted his hands and coughed, spat. He hiccuped. "Come on."

Trent and Brock led Clay from the room and Sonny knelt to wipe the blood off the floor with a towel.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Jason asked. He so didn't need this right now. Didn't need strife and tension among his own team. "You were, like, five minutes ahead of me Ray. The hell?"

"Ray whacked him in the face with the door." Sonny said. "Trent didn't say it broke his nose, so…" He moved to Clay's bed, returned the extra blankets back to their original bed, fixed the sheets on Clay's mattress, tucked in the blankets, fluffed the pillow. "Guessin' the kid's okay, seein' they took him to clean up rather than the infirmary."

"This how it's gonna go?" Jason asked finally.

"Anything from Blackburn?" Sonny changed the subject.

Jason sighed, considering everyone's current moods, he was surprised it was going as well as it was. "Letting Echo handle it." He paced. "We're flying out in the morning. Trent can stay with Clay."

"I'll stay." Sonny offered. "Let Trent go home to his wife."

"I'll feel better, it's Trent." Jason held a hand up. "Moving on," he paused, "Blackburn got a call….Clay's last unit has requested him for…"

"Requested? What does that mean?"

"Why?"

"Blackburn's digging. I don't know anything more. The Captain on his unit asked for, and was granted, Clay."

"No."

"Not our choice Sonny."

"When?" Sonny asked. "He's not in any condition to go on a mission Jay."

"I know."

"They can't just take him back."

"I _know_."

"This is bullshit."

"I know."

"Tell us what you know." Ray said calmly, all thoughts of being home to see his daughter perform gone. "When do they want him? Why? For what?"

"Blackburn's stalling, waiting for further information." Jason pushed a hand through his hair. "Thing is, doctors here, cleared him. We don't have much to argue with."

"Sonny, where are you going?" Ray asked when he headed for the door.

"To wait with Blackburn." Sonny was in the hallway. "Someone's gonna tell me what the hell's going on, and then someone's gonna tell me how to stop it."

Ray looked at Jason who stared back. They pivoted and followed.

()()()

Trent led Clay back to bed, face washed, bleeding stopped. He was surprised to find everyone gone but assumed Mandy had called with information and they'd gone to see what she had learned. Echo would be taking up the fight, but that didn't mean Bravo wouldn't want to know why Clay had been targeted and by who.

Brock offered to go find out what was going on, if Trent was good with Clay. Trent nodded, waved him on. He was tired. It'd been a long, emotionally hectic and mentally frustrating day. All he planned to do was; settle Clay, call the wife, take a hot shower, go to bed.

Didn't. Go. As. Planned.

Clay was in bed, but he didn't settle down and he didn't go to sleep. He flinched at even the littlest noise, stirred whenever Trent moved, winced when Trent turned on a light or the TV. He was uneasy, uncooperative, and either unable or unwilling to settle down. He refused to keep ice on his face, even with towels and a pillow. Slapped irritably at Trent when he attempted to check Clay's pupils. Cried at the flashlight in his eyes, cursed when Trent forced him to obey or submit.

Trent got it. He did. Clay's whole face hurt. His cheeks were swollen into eyes which that swollen closed and when Trent forced his eyelids up with his thumb – which he barely managed to do – it caused pain down to his jaw and back to his ears. His nose was twice its normal size, clogged with blood and he was still unable to breathe through it.

Not once, in the bathroom, had Trent let Clay out of his sight. He'd watched him closely for any signs the whack to his face with the door might have caused, but there hadn't been any. Though unsteady, Clay had been able to maintain his balance. Though confused, Clay had been able to correctly answer easy questions. Though in pain, Clay's mobility and agility had passed Trent's motor-function skills: he'd been able to slap Trent's extended palms, though not with much strength. He'd been able to stand on one foot, touch his nose with his middle fingertip, raise both arms at the same time and speed over his head and duck Trent's light punch.

Bending over though, or trying to touch his toes, had ended with an undignified collapse in Brock's arms. Neither the head-heavy forward pitch or drinking water had produced vomiting and he hadn't had any trouble swallowing the water either.

Trent had been satisfied with Clay's responses, they'd returned to their room and here they were; Trent bleary-eyed with exhaustion and Clay unsettled.

Trent knew the drill when Clay was hurt, recovering and uneasy. He pulled up a chair, sat down near Clay's bed, commenced in a silent text conversation with his wife, because noise now bothered Clay more than light did. Trent tested the theory by taking photos of Clay's bruised, swollen face and sending them to Janine and Clay didn't even flutter an eyelid over the camera flash.

Huh.

Sitting near him had the effect Trent assumed it would and he was soon asleep, breathing labored with snorts and snores every time he tried to breathe through his nose. Eh, Trent shrugged it off, he'd soon learn – even asleep – to breathe through his mouth.

Still though, the possibilities of what could be or what could go wrong, made his stomach clench. The whack from the door hadn't caused a concussion but a brain bleed or blood clot were Trent's silent fears after the whack. He'd been watching and listening for a change in breathing, choking, gagging or vomiting, but so far, there hadn't been any. Still though, he checked the kid's eyes, called his name periodically, roused him to swallow water, offered him melting ice cubes, pinched his arm to see if he could get a response.

And he did each time:

A rolling of the head, licking of the lips, a stop in his breathing.  
Once or twice, Clay opened his eyes.  
Once he reached for Trent's hand.  
There were no signs of a burst vessel or floating blood clot.  
His eyes weren't blood shot or shot through with red from blown veins.  
Neither had sunken into their sockets and both pupils remained even, though they did skitter and roll.  
He flinched when Trent forced his eyes open, but that was due to the extensive swelling.  
He didn't complain of a headache or hold his head in pain.  
When Trent persisted for a response to a question, he got one.  
Clay didn't startle easily, hadn't had a seizure.  
There was no vomiting, no difficulty swallowing, and there hadn't been a time Trent hadn't been able to wake him.  
He woke groggy and irritable, but hadn't lapsed into confusion, displayed lucidity and awareness, knew who Trent was.

Trent kept these worries and concerns to himself. It was merely a suspicion of a slim possibility anyway and to say anything out loud would only rile his team. Nothing to do but wait and see and keep a close eye on him.

Clay somehow had the ability to avoid serious injury, heal in a short amount of time, fight through pain and discomfort. If Trent, at any time, saw signs Clay's condition had deteriorated or he acted or behaved in a way Trent was uncomfortable with, to the infirmary they would go.

"Hey," Brock stepped into the room after carefully opening the door. "You still up? He's he doing?"

"About time you got back. Christ….the hell's going…" Everyone followed him into the room, Blackburn, Davis and Mandy with them. Trent pushed to his feet to argue about the invasion but Brock held up a hand and shook his head.

Trent sat back down.

They filled Trent in on the request from the Captain of Clay's prior team.

"Don't like it."

"Any idea how strong his connection is to that team?"

"Nope. He ever talk about it to you?"

"Me? Hell, no."

"Thing is, we know what he'll push through for us. You think he'd do that for anyone else?"

"Think we're about to find out."

"How's he doing?"

"Nose isn't broken, but the swelling is extensive. I don't think he can see, his cheeks meet his eyebrows." Trent grinned tiredly. "He's keeping ice on it whether he wants to or not."

They all looked over at Clay who was sprawled on his back, a towel of ice over his eyes and nose. He appeared to be sleeping, but yeah, they knew Clay!

"So, you didn't take him to the infirmary, why?" Eric asked.

"No need."

"Maybe you do, the doctor will ground him." Mandy spoke up.

"I already did that." Trent's hands went to his hips.

"Just from flying. Not for whatever he's wanted for." Mandy argued. "From his old unit."

Trent gave it some thought, shook his head. But Jason was looking at Ray, a silent conversation was held between them with their eyes.

"Take him in." Jason ordered.

Trent didn't bother to protest, just pushed to his feet. "Just gonna make him uncomfortable, keep him awake, deny him rest. The doc's gonna say he's fine, nothing broken, no damage, stop wasting his time."

"You don't know that." Ray said.

"I do. I know him." He juggled Clay awake, coaxed him into sitting up. "I get back, you ALL had better still be awake. I don't get to go to bed, no one does."

"Need a hand?" Sonny beat Brock this time, sent the dog-handler a smug smirk. "Hey Blondie,"

Sitting up in bed, Clay slumped against the solid warmth that was Sonny. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go anywhere. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't want anyone to do anything to him except tuck the blankets back up to his shoulders because he was cold.

Sonny didn't need Trent's help getting Clay to his feet and once Clay managed to put one foot in front of the other, his head hanging to his left shoulder towards Sonny, they made it out the door.

"I'm telling you, he's fine. This is a waste of time."

Trent was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And from here, we move on….there will be a jump.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Good God!  
This is taking much longer than I thought...ugh!  
I'm trying...I'll get there...I'm-a-going...

_"You ever hear Clay talk about Barry Watkins?"_   
_"No."_   
_"He ever talk about his time with his unit, their tours in Afghanistan?"_   
_"No. What's this about Blackburn?" Jason felt his stomach thud. This couldn't be good. "What'd you dig up?"_   
_"Clay's unit came under attack in Korengal Valley." Eric continued. "Three dead, two injured, one taken hostage. It was his last mission before he left for training."_   
_"Anything on it?" Jason winced, a place notoriously known for danger and violence – extreme, sadistic torture._   
_"Classified.…"_   
_"Even to you?" Jason cut in._   
_"I'm working on it." Eric snapped, sighed. "Got it cleared, just waiting for the call."_   
_Jason cursed. "Gotta be more to it. Whatever they want, they can't…"_   
_"I'm not calling for your permission for Clay to go. I'm calling to tell you, he's gone."_   
_"That's bullshit." Jason growled. "He's not even medically cleared." But he was by Navy doctors. It was Trent and Bravo's doctor who were timid and hesitant. "Hell, we just landed and…"_   
_"It's out of my hands."_   
_"Then get him back."_   
_"I'm working on it." Eric repeated testily._   
_"Not good enough!"_   
_"Jason…"_   
_"You and I both know, this is some kind of 'produce him or else' mission. The Navy doesn't pay ransom, respond to blackmail or negotiate, so why?"_   
_"Soon as I know…"_   
_"I'm on my way to base…"_   
_"Stand down." Blackburn ordered with all the authority he could muster. At best, it was weak. He was tired, worn out and it must have reflected in his voice, because Jason didn't argue. "That's an order, Jason."_   
_"Where is he?"_   
_Silence_   
_"He flew out." Jason spat flatly. "Where's Trent?"_   
_"I have him remanded to the airport, Trent's on his way home. But Jason, once he was told, he wanted to go."_   
_"Of course he did!" Jason growled. "To do what? What do they want him for?"_   
_"Trying to find out. Until then, stay put."_

Jason held his phone against his chin, the now disconnected call with Blackburn still ringing in his ears. He carefully set the phone down, went to take a hot shower. He had a hot date - with a bottle of whiskey.

Eric tossed his phone onto his dresser, sat down in his wife's recliner, held his head in his hands. He loved his country, his job, his career, but keeping Jason Hayes in line, under control and Bravo within the bounds of authority had given him a need for hair-color, an addiction to Pepto-Bismol, a reputation, a yearning for retirement at an age he'd never thought he'd consider it.

This team...boy-oh-boy...they would bicker and argue, snark and verbally jab one another until punches were thrown; give one another the silent treatment, go days without speaking to each other over some stupid slight, but try and separate them and damn, they'd come after you with teeth bared and guns blazing.

Chaos and trouble constantly bubbled and brewed, never stopped, there was no end in sight, never would be.

It shouldn't have been on him to inform Bravo's Master Chief his youngest member and team sniper – of whom Bravo was fiercely protective – had been dispatched under the command of another unit to one of the most dangerous and violent cities in the world.

Again.

He'd had command of Bravo for...well, a good amount of years now. Jason had already been the Master Chief when he'd taken on the job, duty, role, sentence...and if anyone knew how Jason operated it was Eric. No one wanted to deal with Hayes' shit and when Eric was around, it fell on him to do it.

And let him just say this...this current line-up of Bravo was the hardest to command. Had been ever since Bravo's second-in-command Ray Perry had convinced the 'boss' to select Clay Spenser in the draft.

Was it anyone wonder no one envied him his job? He often discussed with his wife, things he shouldn't, but it's what kept him sane and able to do his job. He had to talk to someone and no one on this blessed earth knew him better than she did. He speculated and she agreed, that if he were to request a transfer or retire or step down, Bravo would cease to be the best assault team the Navy had ever had. No one else would put up with Jason's shit or let him get away with what Eric did.

And yes, while that made him preen with pride, puff his chest out like a peacock flaring its tail, it took a toll. He didn't know why Jason tolerated him as much as and as well as he did, Eric had never asked and didn't ever intend to. His truce and tentative friendship with Bravo One was too valued to risk over something that didn't matter anyway.

Others had tried to command Jason Hayes. It hadn't gone well. Even those of a higher rank or with more authority had tried to reign in Hayes and his men and had accomplished nothing. An issue, a mission, a job, something always came up that required Hayes. It was just all-too-easy to call him in, lay the mess at his feet and stand back while he came up with a plan, a way, to figure it out.

The fact his men followed him blindly without complaint wasn't missed or ignored by the brass. Oh, they bitched about it, publicly argued against allowing the team to remain together but no one, absolutely, no one ever did anything to attempt to break up the team.

For a while, Eric had thought that once Jason retired, was out of the Navy, Bravo wouldn't be first on everyone's list to send on impossible missions. He and his wife had toasted to it, saved for it, planned on it. But no. Oh no. No. Because along had come mini Hayes Junior: Clay Spenser.

There. Were. Two. Of. Them.

He blew his breath out. Spenser was young, arrogant, conceited, cocky, mouthy. Stubborn as hell. Always had something to say, constantly argued and disagreed and stood his ground - with everyone. Always had to have the last word, talked down to people, bucked authority, disobeyed orders, blatantly disregarded the rules. And when his boss allowed such behavior, no one else stood a chance in hell of reining him in.

At first, in the beginning, Bravo and Clay hadn't meshed. The kid had butted heads with Ray, gone nose to nose with Sonny, challenged Jason, ignored Brock and disagreed with Trent. Sonny had been outright hostile, Clay hadn't backed down and Ray, playing peacemaker, had ruffled Clay's ego by telling him, he had to earn the title of 'Bravo sniper', it wasn't just handed out.

Jason had let them battle.

Whatever teams Clay had been on previously, he hadn't made many friends but with those he had, a strong link remained. A lot of negativity could be said about Clay Spenser, but loyalty to friends, his team, would never be on that list. He'd lost his best friend in a freak training accident during Green Team, where he had no close friends, but there were a couple from his previous unit, the phone call came, he'd dropped everything and go – 'cause that's who Clay Spenser was.

And Blackburn was afraid this was one of those calls.

And oh, but he resisted being contained, hated being questioned. He wasn't used to his team wanting to know where he was, what he was doing, where he'd been, who he was seeing, when he got that bruise, why he was limping. He didn't like rules tied to Bravo, such as; curfew, telling his boss where he was going or if he'd be away from home or quarters overnight, getting vacation approved. And that was cause to butt heads with Jason who didn't like being lied to. He didn't tolerate lying. Clay might not reveal everything, might omit an event or two, but when asked outright, he never lied.

Eric had cautioned Jason to give it time, let Clay find his own way, his spot on the team. Reminded him with a laugh that Jason had just met himself and yeah, he was hard to like.

Eri sighed, pushed to his feet to scrounge up some aspirin from the night stand, swallowed three with the last of his chamomile tea, stared at his reflection in the mirror, pushed at his unruly hair. Time for his wife to 'comb that grey right out of his beard'. He tilted his head, ducked his chin…and maybe his hair.

"Want some toast?" Betty's voice floated up from downstairs. "Picked up some of your favorite strawberry rhubarb jam from the farmers market."

He replied it sounded good, moved off to the bathroom to wash his face for bed. He normally brushed his teeth, but he was going to eat toast and the taste of toothpaste messed with the flavor of the jam.

Would any of this ever get easier?

Brock had been the first to include the kid in conversation, run with him, invite him to breakfast. Eric believed it was because Clay hadn't kicked Cerberus off his bunk one night, had just moved his feet and slid closer to the wall so the dog had room to be comfortable.

Then Clay had a headache that just wouldn't go away and Brock had told him to ask Trent what to try. He had and he'd accepted the medics suggestion to eat something cold without mockery or derision, hadn't blown him off over suggestions or advice regarding illness or injury, no matter how odd or old-fashioned.

Soon after that, while on a hike during a mission, Sonny had been annoyed with Clay – again – for some reason or another, gave him a playful shove, the dog, off leash, had gotten between them and Jason had blown up. The next thing anyone knew, Clay was gone.

He'd been pushed right off the path, which had no other side. It'd been a 50 foot drop down rock and gravel with limited ability to stop his descent. Brock had roped off and repelled down, finding Clay conscious but dazed, the extent of his injuries, if any, unknown.

Trent had taken charge, joined Brock down the incline, neither had spoken to Bravo or responded to Jason and Eric's demands for status. He had ordered Clay to stay still, not move, answer any and all questions he asked honestly. Expecting an attitude and insistence he was fine, didn't need any help, leave him alone – his usual behavior – everyone had been stunned when Clay had obeyed without so much as a roll of the eyes. Whatever teams he'd been on, whatever dislike he'd garnered, he'd obviously obeyed and respected the medic, 'cause he sure as hell won Trent over that day.

From then on, it had become more or less, three against three and Sonny had never again laid hands on the kid.

Dressed for bed, Eric returned to his bedroom, sat back down in the recliner. His wife would soon be in with his toast and more tea. If he crawled into bed, he'd be asleep before she came up, not that it would matter. She'd simply crawl into bed next to him, the antique bed with slats would creak, he'd wake up, she'd feed him toast, curl up beside him and they'd both go to sleep.

"On my way in a sec." She called.

Those. Three.

They were always either causing mischief, playing pranks, pulling stunts or in trouble with Jason or team rules or command or Ray. The team had been in….Eric massaged his temples, crossed his ankles, laid his head back….Romania, maybe, Austria, Turkey, hell, somewhere – he'd look it up if it mattered, it didn't – when he'd gotten a phone call regarding…Those. Three.

He'd bolted from the base with an over-the-shoulder shout at Davis that he'd be back. The call had caused terror to burn in his gut, there'd been no time to waste. Two of his men had been arrested, were in jail, the third had been taken to a local hospital.

He hadn't known where to go first. Brock and Trent were in jail, Clay in the hospital. Trent would have a fit, any foreign doctor treated Clay or any of Bravo, but Eric felt the hospital had been the lesser of the two evils and had high-tailed it to the jail with the six MP's he'd 'borrowed' from the base Bravo was stationed on.

He'd had to argue and threaten and bargain his way past the front desk, force his way down the steps into the cellar where the holding cells were. He'd bordered on hysteria, the thoughts in his mind about what could be happening making him sick to his stomach.

He'd rushed down the stairs, come off the last step, burst through the door, gun in hand, ready to shoot…and found Brock and Trent zig-zagging across the floor, shuffling diagonal; moving side to side, hands on their hips doing a one-footed 180 twist. They clapped three times, moved side to side, shook it out, stuck it, glided; with nine – _NINE!_ – other questionable looking thugs contained in the same cell.

And they were _laughing_! Fucking laughing, singing and teaching some messed-up version of damn Hannah Montana's Hoedown/Throwdown to the cell's other occupants and Eric had the blood of the prison employees on his boots!

And then, THEN, when'd he called their attention to him, they'd been pissed to see him! They'd assumed he'd have gone after Clay and when they found out no one had, well now, they'd had some pretty choice words to say to the man who could effectively ruin their careers.

Eric hadn't bothered gaining their official release. The MP's easily picked the lock on the cell, escorted them out of the station and they'd sped to the hospital, arriving in time to retrieve Clay – who had been in police custody and handcuffed to the gurney – before any doctor had been able to do more than paint him with mercurochrome and slap band-aids over his cuts and scrapes.

After that night, Eric realized and accepted he was too close to this team; they knew it, he knew it. Damn it all, he'd gone and developed a soft spot for a punked-ass kid with an attitude who, no matter what, always had his team's backs.

Some of his colleagues said he was a pansy, a Bravo patsy, wouldn't stand up to them, wouldn't pull rank, wouldn't command them to respect his authority. And yeah, he supposed in a way that was true, but wasn't it better to operate as a team with a team who would do anything for him?

And he had laid down the law more than once. The entire team had grudgingly, reluctantly and with an attitude, fell into line but he still thought it was better to just let them do what they did best.

"Head still bothering you?" Betty asked, sitting a tray of toast, tea and brownies on the table beside the recliner.

Elizabeth.

Eric, and only Eric, called her Betty and she was okay with that, liked having a name that meant something only to her husband. Once he'd serenaded her with Bog Seger's 'Betty Lou's getting out tonight' while a bit tipsy. She'd fallen more than a little in love with him that night.

"It'll get better when I figure what to do."

"You know what to do," she scolded gently. "So what you mean is; your headache will go away when you gain access to the classified mission Clay was sent on with his old unit." She laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. "And when you get permission to go get him."

Eric sighed, accepted the comfort she so willingly gave. Anyone ever found out how much he told her, he'd lose his job, career, rank, pension – everything.

"I don't care what the mission is, where it is or what it involves."

"You're not asking for that." She pointed out. "You just want to know what kind of danger he's in."

"I'll get it." Eric stated firmly. "One way or another, no matter how many toes I stomp on, how many favors I call in or promise, I will find out."

"You want your man back."

'I sure as hell am not going to sit here and just wait."

"You want to send Bravo after him."

"Send them? Hell Betty, they _want_ to go. It's all I can do to keep them from storming the base."

"You're afraid of losing him."

He took a bite of toast. "He went through a lot of intense training to become a Tier One SEAL."

"Not what I meant. You're not worried his pull to his old unit is great enough, he'll return." She patted his hand, played with his thumb. "Bravo loses him in the bathroom, what if he goes missing now?"

"He operated before Bravo, he'll have to do what he did then…" Eric sighed. "Shit. They'd steal a plane, Chuck would fly them all over there."

"And you." She teased.

"I have him remanded to quarters." Eric clasped his fingers together, cupped the back of his head with his palms. "I haven't given permission for him to leave the base."

"Are you going to?"

"They'll get around me, they want to."

"Given enough time." She agreed. "There is no way Jason's not fighting the bit for his head."

"Just waiting to see who gets their way first."

She patted his shoulder. "My bets are on you."

***000***

Brock and Trent stood on the front porch of a remote cabin, waiting for the door to open, both meeting the eyes of the man without flinching or staring when it did.

"Whatever it is you're after, I want no part of it." The man missing one arm from the elbow said. He had extensive scars on his face, from what remained of his ear to his shoulder blade, same side of his body as his missing arm. His eye was disfigured but remained and was functionable. "Get off my property." A large black dog of undetermined breed growled at his feet.

"Donte Myers?" Brock said calmly, made several soft noises and the dog quieted and sat down. "I'm Brock Reynolds, this is Trent Sawyer. We just want to talk to you about..."

The cabin they'd found Myers in, was indeed remote, but by no means, devoid of comfort. The man sought privacy and distance, but he didn't live alone and he hadn't withdrawn completely from life.

"I don't have anything to say to you or anyone else from the Navy." Donte said bluntly, started to close the door. "Get gone. I don't want to talk to you." Oh, he knew they were military when neither looked away or even blinked at the sight of his injuries. They didn't stare or gawk and neither were uncomfortable. He guessed Navy, because….duh.

"We just want to…"

"There's nothing you can say that will make me let you into my home, talk to you. Now go away."

Responding to his owner's tone, the dog bared his teeth, growled aggressively.

"Clay Spenser." Trent spoke up. "Know him?"

Donte faltered, his eyes went wide, nostrils flared. Brock and Trent could see the internal battle on his face, the side with frozen and melted muscles distorting painfully.

"Someone finally put him in his grave?" He sighed finally, rubbed his forehead, two fingers on his remaining hand melted together. "How'd he buy it? You find a body to bring back?" He petted the dog's head, fondled an ear. "Didn't make 30, did he?" He opened the door a bit wider. "You think I'd want to know, why?"

"Clay's alive." Brock said steadily. "He's fine."

"It's my job to keep him that way." Trent added.

Neither missed the slight shudder, the shaking hand on the dog's head.

"Then you ain't got an easy job." Donte nodded. The silence stretched, both Brock and Trent patient, letting him navigate whatever feelings they were digging up in his own time. "You lose him?"

Donte saw the smile both Trent and Brock fought to hide, the look they exchanged. A smile of affection, fondness. Not only did these two men call Spenser friend, they understood Donte's dry tone, the joke.

"We know where he is."

"How'd you find me?" He stood aside, allowed them entrance into the cabin. "Iced tea or lemonade? Wife don't allow alcohol in the house."

"I can track anyone." Brock said simply, crouching down to greet the dog. After extending a closed fist for smell inspection and being accepted, he scratched the silky ears.

"Lemonade." Trent said, Brock nodded.

"What unit you with?"

"Tier One."

"The kid finally did it, eh? Went through Green? Who was stupid enough to take him on?"

"Jason Hayes."

"Hayes, eh?" Donte nodded. "Not an easy guy, I've heard. Glasses are in that cupboard, some cookies are over there. Sugar or sweetener?"

"Sugar."

"How well do you know Clay?" Brock asked, now petting a furry belly amid doggie sighs and a floor-thumping tail.

"About as well as anyone. He bonded pretty tight with Brian Armstrong, heard about his death. Sucks."

"Clay took it hard."

"Heard about Adam Seaver too." Donte said, rolling his eyes over the antics of his dog. "Don't imagine he took that death any better."

"He didn't."

"So, what do you want?" Donte asked, getting right to the point. He didn't wish to be rude, but he really didn't want these men in his house. "Get to it."

Brock grinned, gave the dog a final pat, pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, sat down. "Information on the mission in Korengal Valley."

Donte waved his maimed hand, touched his scars, didn't speak.

"Is he responsible for your injuries?"

Donte set a sugar bowl on the table, got a spoon as Trent set down glasses and removed a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. The three men sat uneasily at the kitchen table.

"No." Donte used his teeth to open a pink packet of sweetener. "He was just a kid. Didn't like being told what to do."

"We're still beating that outta him."

Silence. Lemonade was sipped.

"We lost him to a Sheikh who wanted to buy him for his harem once." Brock grinned in an attempt to ease the tension.

"Cause he was pretty to look at." Trent added. "Blackburn got into a pillow fight with a bunch of women trying to get him back."

"Eric Blackburn?" Donte relaxed a bit, the mood successfully lightened. These men knew Spenser alright.

"You know him?"

"Heard of him. He your CO?"

"And bless him for it." Brock said. Donte obviously still had friends or contacts in the Navy.

Silence.

"We were sent to check out a warehouse. He was right behind me. So close, I could touch him. We rounded a corner, I was alone."

"Been there."

"Done that."

"We scrambled, waited for command, intel came in, we took the building."

"He wasn't there?"

"Nope. Never had been."

"Source of the intel?"

"Never found out. If top brass did, I never heard about it." Donte shook his head. "The kid was jumped, woke up, couldn't find us, went back to base on his own to find we weren't there."

"The building blew?"

Donte nodded. "And he was nowhere near it, had never been in it."

"Kid would feel like it was his fault, something happened to his team."

Donte snorted. "That little prick? Full of arrogance, attitude, ego?"

"You questioning his loyalty?" Brock quietly asked, his first hint of disgust.

Donte slapped the table with his palm. "No! NO! Sorry, no." He was quiet. "How long he been with you guys?"

"Long enough, anyone ever tried to hurt him or leave him to find his own way back, they wouldn't have knee caps." Brock sipped his lemonade.

"Or ears." Trent added. "Sonny would detach the cartilage by hand."

Donte was quiet, sighed. "Kid was maybe 20, when he joined us. Not even old enough to legally drink in this country. I was at the end of my career, the other side of 35, I had 18 months before I was gonna hang 'em up."

"He, uh, can wear you out. We left him with Alpha once, Full Metal blew up Jason's phone. Was funny at first."

"Didn't end so funny. Reaction to bee stings landed him in the hospital."

Donte tilted his head, studied Trent. "You're the medic? And you ain't grey yet?"

"Uh, hair dye." Trent teased with a sigh. "Jason expects a lot."

"We have a team doc who usually travels with us. You don't run with Hayes and ignore an injury."

Donte poured more lemonade for everyone, noted the words: run 'with' Hayes, not 'for' Hayes. "His talent with a long gun," he shook his head. "The languages he could speak. And yet…."

"No one wanted to deal with him." Trent stirred more sugar into his glass. "Right? He was hurt or down, no one wanted anything to do with him."

"We took care of him." Donte snapped. "We never left him behind, never left an injury untreated. We lost him, we found him."

"But a job gone wrong, bet the only person who ever tried to talk to him while he sulked, was Armstrong."

Donte was quiet, stared at his hand, scowled. "He was a fucking little prick."

Trent had made his point, moved on. "He's been called back by your Captain. Blackburn's fighting it, but he's already flown in."

"We're either trying to get him back, abort the mission or be allowed to fly over there and join him."

"Jason's having a fit." Trent said. "He doesn't like anyone taking any of his men away from him. We aren't any too happy about having him taken from us either."

"There's more to this."

Donte got up, opened a cupboard, dug within, withdrew a flask. "My wife catches us, you brought this with you." He warned as he unscrewed the cap, added a generous splash to all three glasses, sat back down. "Nothing we ever did was a special ops mission." He took a drink. "We raided a village, burned it to the ground without care for the livestock, way of life, or its residents. Our job was to wipe out any possibility the villagers could sustain a fighting force."

Not special ops? Then why was Blackburn up against a 'classified' brick wall?

"Was there evidence of that?"

"Didn't matter."

"This was before the building blew?"

Donte nodded. "Day before. Look at him sideways, he'd blown your fucking head off. Don't think he ever missed. But that day…"

"You weren't sent to kill innocent villagers?" Brock frowned. That would eat at Clay.

"No, just burn every building and everything they owned, poison the well, take out the power grid, kill the livestock."

"Clay wouldn't slaughter innocent animals." Brock objected, still frowning.

Donte brooded. "He argued with the Cap over that and the well."

As would Jason.

Donte tossed a bit of cookie to the dog. "He shot the latches off the gates, shot into the dirt to scatter the goats. Cap was pissed, next thing we knew, a man's dead in the dirt. He'd been creeping up behind Cap with a knife."

"Clay made the shot."

"A woman was with the guy. She was screaming, begging, carrying on but we couldn't understand a word she was saying."

"But Clay could."

"We thought she was freaking out over dude who no longer had a head."

"But it was the well."

Donte rubbed his forehead. "Clay told us…._warned _us….to leave it alone. He and Cap got into it, punches were thrown."

"Clay struck a superior?"

"He hit back, didn't throw the first haymaker. Next day, we're casing the warehouse, dunno why, he's gone and we get blown up."

"The well?"

"Clay put a bullet through the container. Dunno what it contained, dunno how spilling it onto the ground was okay, but pouring it into the well, wasn't." Donte downed the lemonade, poured more, added another splash of whiskey. "That kid had no fear, never hesitated. He'd argue for a better plan, a different way. Call him reckless maybe, sometimes, but he isn't stupid."

"No," both Brock and Trent agreed softly.

"He could scare the shit right outta me." Donte smiled into his lemonade. "Think I passed out a time or two, holding my breath over some stupid stunt or another he was attempting to pull off. He could fight through injury like no one I'd ever seen. Always came out right for him though."

"Still has that horseshoe up his ass."

"To this day, I say he was jumped so he wasn't anywhere near the building when it blew. Never proven though. He didn't even know about it until after he found his way back to base." Donte was quiet, mind far away. "He. Was. Removed." He made eye contact, sighed. "By the time Watkins was found, he…." He shook his head. "Our unit…three dead, two critically injured, one captured in that blast. Over a god-damn well."

Silence. Brock ate another cookie.

"And Spenser? Knocked out and woke up couple miles away in an alley with a headache a couple of aspirin did away with."

"Not you."

"Spenser led the rest of our unit on a rescue attempt. They were banged up, Cap told them to wait for the rescue team but they sided with Spenser, went with him."

"This, uh, Captain…."

"Wasn't his rank."

"He's still active?"

"Only as an advisor." Donte sighed. "Injury sidelined him," his bottom lip trembled. "Trap, maybe. They knew someone would come for him."

"Barry Watkins?"

Donte shifted his weight in the chair. "This is all speculation, you get that, right? They were waiting for the rescue team, I just don't think they thought Spenser would be with them." His closed fist hit the table, spoons jangled. "There's video. They were out-numbered, out-gunned, over-powered…Spenser comes out of the smoke, dust and she saw him."

"She?"

"Same bitch from the village." Donte confirmed, added more whiskey. "Spenser didn't let Cap poison the well and she spared his life."

"Explains his reluctance to attack women." Trent said to Brock who was nodding in agreement. "He'll let them kick the shit out of him before he'll try and fight back." He explained to Donte.

"Women have no authority over there."

"Dunno know what Cap would want with Spenser now. Whatever it is, can't be good. He has no good feelings towards Spenser….if he's asking…you can't trust him."

"Why's that?"

"Kid shot him."

"Doesn't sound like something Spenser would do."

"Shot through him to save Watkins." Donte clarified. "Man can live like this," he waved his hand over his face and shoulder. "But deaf, blind, mute? No hands? No feet? Castrated? Ain't no life."

"That what happened to Watkins?"

"Wudda, 'cept for Spenser. He hadn't been on that mission, the well would have been poisoned and..."

"The injury to Cap?"

"Shoulder. Surgery repaired most of the nerve damage, but he has limited motion."

"Was Watkins taken hostage for any known reason?"

"Think they wanted us to come get him, take the rest of us out." Donte shrugged. "Like I said, they didn't expect Spenser to be there. She came out of nowhere once she saw him. Dunno what she said, Spenser refused to tell us. Said he couldn't hear her, stuck to that story in debrief."

"You don't believe that."

"She let him have Watkins and walk out of there. What do you think?"

"And Watkins is alive?"

'He is."

Phones vibrated in unison. One chirped, the other played a Black Sabbath song.

"Gotta go." Trent pushed back from the table. "Thank you. Sorry for bringing all this back up."

"Good to know the kid got on a good team."

Brock had answered his phone. "Uh, an hour?" He looked at Trent. They were in West Virginia. "On our way." He was moving towards the door, phone to his ear, snapped his fingers at Trent. "Wheels up in 90, we're gonna go get him. You drive." He spared a final pat to the dog. "Christ, if they have to wait on us...we're gonna run hills for a year."

"We owe Blackburn a fucking case of that scotch he favors." Trent was on the move. He left a card on the table. "We were never here."

And they were gone.

Donte cleaned up the table, opened a drawer to add the card that bore just a phone number, to an envelope that contained a photo of his unit when everyone was whole and hearty. He touched fingertips to the two men on the right….Brian Armstrong hugging a tousled-haired blonde who was laughing….

"God be with you." He whispered, closed the drawer. "Bring him home."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't hate Ray.…but I gotta pick someone to speak out – up – against and it's never, ever, going to be Jason (or Blackburn) in any story of mine….so…..it's gonna be Ray or Mandy.

Eric paced his living room; cell phone at one ear, land line at the other. Jason stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest; waiting.

"I never….I didn't….no." Eric was saying, carrying on two conversations. "How? He better not be…..you just made a serious mistake." He looked at the wall clock, his watch. "….call him back…..No…no…you heard me…get him back."

Jason stiffened. Eric didn't mean 'call' via phone.

"You fucked up, that's what you did." Eric threw the cell phone, talked into the other receiver. "Then get Bravo airborne…!"

"I want our support team." Jason spoke up, Eric nodded in agreement. "Full team Blackburn."

"Full team, that's right." Eric's cell rang, he picked it up. "It's a 15-hour flight…we're wheels up in 90 and God help you Crawford, you'd better have him back on base by the time we get there or it won't be rubber bullets Quinn shoots at you."

Jason was on the phone, calling Ray. "We're green, call up Dutch, we're rolling."

"You. Will. Be. On. That. Plane." Eric growled, taking the duffel his wife handed him. "And. You. Will. Read. Us. In. And Phil, you'll be on a plane full of men who know how to throw someone out of it."

()()()

"Enough." Brock pushed to his feet to pace in the limited space available. "I don't believe for one second, Clay disobeyed direct orders, resulting in this shit show you're trying to convince us happened."

"Three dead, two injured, one missing." Phil Crawford, of some higher rank or another, repeated.

"And that's Clay's fault, how?"

"He disobeyed orders."

"Oh, right, right." Brock nodded, hands on hips. "Because he didn't poison the well of a peaceful village. Right?"

Crawford gawped, glared.

"The peaceful village you ordered burned to the ground."

"And was done."

"The team was led into a trap…." Phil tried, was cut off.

"Twice, wasn't it?"

"And why was that? There was no proven intel that village was anything more than poor farmers. Someone decided it _could_ possibly sustain a fighting force, so it was destroyed. You picked the wrong village to make an example of, didn't you?"

"We weren't wrong." Phil said through clenched jaw. "The events that followed proved that."

"There was no sign of weapons or illegal activity. No drugs. No sex trade. You found nothing."

"And yet the next day, _the next day_, the warehouse the team was sent to….." Again, Phil was interrupted.

"The warehouse." Trent spat sarcastically. "In the nearest city over an hour away and not previously singled out as suspicious. Where'd the intel come from again, that sent the team _over an hour away_ to investigate a warehouse no one cared about? Even knew about?"

"Where'd that intel come from again?" Brock echoed.

"….blew sky-high and Spenser was conveniently 'knocked out' and came to no harm." Phil continued.

"_Conveniently_?" Trent sputtered. "Conven…..the HELL, you dick? You think he ran away, smashed his own head against a wall until he knocked himself out?"

"No one on his team _ever_ suspected him of being involved." Brock growled. "And if you investigated that path, you found nothing, right?"

"We lost good men." Phil said heatedly. "And Spenser gets a bump on his head? Because he didn't poison a well?" He snorted his disdain, his disbelief. "I'll never buy that."

"You're an asshole." Trent spat.

"Trent." Ray warned when neither Jason nor Eric spoke up. "Watch it."

"OH Come ON! Ray!" Trent exploded. "Nothing this prick can say will ever make me believe Clay turned on his team! Set them up! CLAY SPENSER?! You do remember him, right? We talking about the same guy?"

"No one said that." Ray said calmly, nudged Jason who stepped away in annoyance.

"Let them talk." Jason said harshly.

"A trap, twice?" Sonny spoke up.

"Your boy," Phil shot a look at Trent, sneered. "Led the rescue. Wouldn't wait for the rescue team being spun up. Oh no, not Spenser. Had to go haring off on his own."

"He found Watkins."

"He didn't go alone."

"Watkins was held hostage, how long? Weeks? Months? Or was it just days? It was days, right Crawford?"

"Where's he now? Not dead, right? Why's that again? What'd they have planned for him? You remember, don't you Crawford?"

Eric caught Jason's eye, mouthed Barry Watkins.

"He shot a superior officer!" Phil shouted heatedly. "And why? For who?"

"To save a teammate from unspeakable torture!"

"Don't even _suggest_ it was for any other reason."

"And he just waltzed away, nary a bruise!"

"So, Cap led the team to run surveillance on a suspicious warehouse and three were dead, two injured, one missing. Clay leads a rescue attempt, everyone comes home."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't there!"

"Were you?"

"Fuck you!" Phil was red-faced with barely controlled anger.

"There's footage though, isn't there? Blackburn can get access, you really want us to see what's on that video?"

"Blackburn, control your men!" bellowed Phil.

"Never could before, don't see how now's gonna be any different." Eric replied calmly. "And I already have the video, and we're all going to watch it."

"It is classified." Phil snapped. "There's no way you were granted access to it."

"Yeah, well, it's been 'declassified' and you can't prevent us from seeing it." Eric smirked. "Sucks, huh?"

"Anything happens to that kid, and you'll find out what a real shit-show is." Jason promised. "Read. Us. In."

Phil Crawford fumed, turned to Blackburn, expected the Lieutenant Commander of Bravo to control his men, but received no help. Eric was busy typing on a laptop.

"Wasiqa Jaber." An image of a woman appeared on a laptop screen that sat on cargo boxes. "Was the wife of a U.S. targeted ISIS leader leading a conflict against the Taliban. On a mission to eliminate his network, a village in Korgenal Valley was targeted. Orders were issued to burn it to the ground, destroy crops, blow the power grid, kill livestock, poison the well."

"Nothing was found." Someone else took up the story as everyone crowded around the laptop. "No weapons. No evidence of armed forces or supplies, of any kind, to aid male-aged fighters. Not even a connection to the network we were after."

"There were no outside communications. No phones, no wi-fi, no walkie-talkie's, not even a radio."

"It was mostly women and children, a few infirm males that only tried to protect the village."

"Farmers."

"Cap led the assault. Spenser shot and killed a male who had approached Cap with a knife. He drove off the livestock, didn't kill it, prevented the poisoning of the well."

"They could rebuild houses, recapture goats and chickens, could live without power but water is essential for sustaining life."

"These people had nothing."

"Or so it was thought." Phil interjected hostilely.

"No, they had nothing," was stressed. "Jaber had settled in the village with her sister and her children. We didn't know who she was or that she had resources she could rely upon."

"She had contacts within her dead husbands' organization."

"She didn't care about the dead man."

"And she led the attacks on Cap and his unit for the destruction of the village."

"Senseless destruction."

"What does she want now?"

"There's been chatter of unrest. We suspect, but have no evidence, she's involved with the network her husband ran."

"She's running it." Phil groused.

"We put the word out for a meeting, she responded, she would only talk to us if the 'blonde soldier from the destruction of her village who spoke her language', met her."

"Not a chance in hell." Jason said flatly. "Not without us. No."

An hour or so later, the read-in over, questions asked and answered, Bravo had gone their separate ways to do whatever it was Tier One teams did to prepare for a mission while airborne on a C17. It was more crowded than usual, the full 15-member support team flying with them.

Usually, when Jason insisted on taking the support team that was divided into Tier Two and Tier Three teams, they flew on their own transport flown by their own pilots, but not this time. Not knowing what they were walking into, Jason wanted – and got – everyone flying together.

"So, it's important this woman is apprehended?" Ray took a seat next to Crawford.

"She shouldn't even be walking around free."

"Mmmm." Ray nodded. "So, knowing where she's been for the last seven years, hasn't aided you in capturing her?"

"She's elusive."

"Must be, since she's remained in the Valley."

"Near it."

Ray was quiet, relaxed and at ease. "What kind of soup do you like?"

Phil Crawford blinked, caught a bit off-guard. Ray Perry was the most approachable, level-headed member of Bravo and perhaps, had a way of luring his target into a false sense of security. His team was livid. Even the support team regarded Phil as slime, kept their distance with glares and snorts and growls. But Ray had been calm throughout the read-in, spoke out against outbursts from his team, had told everyone to calm down and think clearly.

"There won't be a meal served on this flight." Phil replied with slight confusion. Ray Perry should know that. A C17 was his usual means of transportation on a mission. "Maybe a sandwich." He paused. "Why?"

"Because," Ray sat forward, clasped his fingers between his thighs before giving Phil a knuckle-nudge on one knee. "If anything happens to that kid, there won't be an oral surgeon capable of putting teeth back in your mouth."

Ray pushed to his feet, was gone.

"Not even dentures." Brock was slouched against a support pillar, arms crossed over his chest.

"Cause your mouth ain't never going back together again." Sonny drawled.

"Enjoy that soup." Trent mock saluted Phil. "Cause it's all you'll ever eat again."

Phil stood up, turned to Eric who sat three seats away. "You're going to let them get away with threatening me?"

"I didn't hear anything." Eric turned the page of the report on his lap. "You hear anything Jason?"

"Think I heard the boys saying they're in the mood for soup."

"So, that's how this is going to go?" Phil demanded. "Battle axes drawn at each other's throats? What the hell is your problem? This is a sanctioned mission to negotiate a cease fire and possibly save lives of U.S. soldiers and local civilians….."

Eric handed the report off to Jason, rose to his feet to stand face-to-face with Phil. "My problem isn't with the mission. MY. PROBLEM. IS. WITH. YOU." He poked a finger against Phil's chest with each word. "My _problem_ is you sending my man without his team."

"He is the lowest ranked member on your team, a rookie…"

"There. That." Eric had a finger in Phil's face but didn't touch him. "That right there is the problem."

"His rank?" Phil snorted derisively. "You don't run this Navy Blackburn, you're a part of it. Bravo's a part of it. Hell, you don't even run the platoon your team…."

"That word." Eric said furiously. "The word 'your'. You hear that? He's on _my_ team. MINE! Not yours. He's not yours! He's mine!"

"It's not a Tier One job. And you were notified." Phil had heard rumors, seen firsthand, how possessive Blackburn and Hayes were of anyone on Bravo, but he never thought Blackburn would take it this far – get in his face, far. "It's a fucking meeting."

"Then you didn't need a Tier One operator."

"We didn't. We needed Spenser because he is the only person she is willing to negotiate with."

"You don't get him without his team."

"You don't have the authority….." Phil began.

"I don't? Where are we Phil? Where are we going? IF you hadn't ignored me, gone around McCall and over Harrington, we wouldn't be here and Spenser sure as hell wouldn't be in Korengal Valley alone!" Eric paused. "But you had to go inside the beltway, to get what you want, didn't you?"

"You were told that his prior unit…."

"I was not told he was flying on his own to Korengal Valley."

"He didn't fly alone." Phil seethed. "JESUS CHRIST! What's this really about Blackburn? Spenser? Or Bravo getting their own way?"

"It's about you don't split up my team to satisfy your personnel vendetta."

"This wouldn't be happening, if Spenser would have put a bullet through her skull seven years ago."

"He wasn't ordered to."

"No one understood what their conversation was about. The drone surveillance didn't have sound. NO ONE knows what they talked about."

"His job wasn't to eliminate innocent villagers."

"She wasn't so innocent, now was she?"

Eric grabbed folders and papers off a nearby makeshift table, threw them in the air, let them scatter where they landed. "AND WHERE IN THE HELL, IN ALL THESE REPORTS, IN ALL THIS INTEL, DOES IT SAY 'SHOOT ANY WOMAN ON SIGHT BECAUSE SHE MIGHT NOT BE AN INNOCENT VILLAGER?"

"You are out of line Blackburn! Back Off!"

"I have every file, every AAR, every debrief. I've seen the video, the surveillance footage. I've read the op package as it was being put together. Nowhere, NOWHERE does it ever say, Cap's unit was seeking a female. There were no orders to find, capture or kill. YOU didn't even know about her until she showed up when they rescued Watkins!"

"He disobeyed orders and his team was targeted."

"That's bullshit and you damn well know it. If he hadn't been there, the well would have been poisoned, the livestock killed and she wouldn't have stopped after targeting that unit. She would have waged full-out war. But she didn't. You know what kind of hell she could have raised, the destruction she could have wrought? She targeted only the men who destroyed her village, let them walk when Clay promised her the troops would withdraw and leave her be if she went underground."

"He had no right to do that."

"How many more men were you willing to lose to her vendetta?"

"And look where we are."

"And that begs the question: what did you do, to make her come after you again? She was quiet for seven years, had disappeared, caused no trouble and now? Now? You son-of-a-bitch."

"She apparently didn't stay underground. The chatter….."

"If anything happens to him…"

"She won't hurt him." Phil snapped viciously. "She's already proven that – TWICE!"

"She won't _kill_ him." Eric corrected. "You still don't get it. I have no problem with Spenser going back there. I have no problem involving him in whatever mission you have green-lit. I have no problem sending him to meet her and negotiate. My. Problem. Is. You going behind my back and sending him without telling me."

"And if I had? Say I did Blackburn. What then? What difference does it make?" Phil wisely calculated he had made a serious error in judgement when he'd assumed, he could have Spenser simply re-assigned. He'd never expected Blackburn to get personally involved or to raise such a stink. "I was still going to get him."

He sure as hell had never thought Bravo would insist on flying to the Valley, not to take over the mission or join it, but to get their man back.

Eric sneered, spread his hands wide in a 'wtf, come and get me' gesture. "If you had, he never would have gone alone."

"He didn't go alone." Phil howled, outraged and sick of hearing that. "I told you he was wanted by his old unit! I FUCKING told you!"

Eric jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the wall of twenty men dressed all in black, standing in the same position: legs planted firmly apart, arms crossed over their chests, glaring.

"He would have gone with them."

"That'd be us." Sonny said unnecessarily.

Someone handed Eric a satellite phone, Phil curled a lip in disgust.

"Excuse me." Eric quipped with condescension. "Got to take this. There's a doctor that needs re-assignment."

***000***

"I still don't know what you want from me." Clay said, elbows on the table, palms pressed against his temples to support his head. Maybe they'd already told him. They probably had. He didn't know. He was having a hard time remembering his own name right now. If asked, he'd only be able to say he thought maybe it rhymed with play, pay, way.

His flight into Korengal Valley – aka, The. Flight. From. Hell. – had been miserable. He didn't know the men he traveled with. If there had been a medic or doctor on the plane, Clay hadn't been told and no one had paid him any attention or approached him. If Trent had been on board with a strange team and cake-eaters, it wouldn't have mattered if the person who needed help or assistance was one of his own – he would have intervened, given aid.

Without uncovering his face, he spared a hand to snag the bottle of water, someone offered him, gratefully took small sips.

He'd thought the flight was never going to end. He'd paced, sat, laid down, paced. He'd tried Advil – all he had with him – cold towels, self-massage, buried his head under several pillows but the pressure in his head had only built, resulting in pulsating thumping that kept him on the edge of nausea.

It had been the longest hour of his life.

Trent had told him to not to go, to plead injury, ask to see a different doctor, have more tests before flying out; Clay hadn't listened.

Trent then told him to drink plenty of fluids, lay flat, elevate his feet, keep his head still; Clay had listened, but nothing he'd done had provided any relief.

He'd finally found lying on the plastic seats with his head slightly hanging off the edge towards the floor, one foot on the back of the seats, the other elevated into the orange plastic netting, had made the pain bearable enough, he hadn't embarrassed himself by whining.

They'd landed, he'd grabbed his duffel, staggered down the ramp and was met by Cap. He'd shaken the man's hand, stifled the urge to wipe his palm on his shirt and walked with him and the three men who accompanied him. They were leading to him to the command center when all he wanted was to lie down with an ice pack in a quiet, dark room.

He hadn't complained though. Just kept his head down, his eyes shielded and walked. They'd still been crossing the base from the air strip when they'd been greeted by a man accompanied by two MP's and whatever orders they gave the men with Cap had overrode theirs, and he'd been escorted to his quarters where he was told he would remain on orders of his CO until why he was there had been straightened out.

Aah, God Bless Blackburn.

Some hours ago, he'd been approached in his quarters while Trent had gone to get something to eat. He'd been told Cap from his old unit required him on a matter that went back to the last mission he did with that unit. He'd agreed to go, thinking he'd have time to talk to Trent, call Jason, but the doctor from the infirmary was there and said he was cleared to fly.

He'd thought he'd have days when he'd had minutes.

Trent had argued with the doctor and the ass who had approached Clay but he was ordered home and Clay had flown here by himself. He'd never again question Trent's knowledge or his ability to understand Clay better than Clay understood himself. He'd been pissed when he'd been told he'd be staying behind when the team flew home, then felt bad that Trent had chosen to stay with him. He hadn't understood why he couldn't fly home if the doctor on base said he was fine.

Well, now he knew.

His head was fucking killing him. It was all he could do to hold it together on the flight and had it been much longer, or if the elevation had been higher, he very much believed he would be in the hospital.

So, yeah, he'd made it to Korengal Valley, but home? He'd've had Trent, but still, he wouldn't have completed the trip conscious.

"Wasiqa Jaber. She was…."

"I know who she is." Clay groused, eyes closed, head lowered. Light was not his friend. His belly was on a boat; bobbing and weaving, rushing up, crashing down, rolling back and forth. His head was on the tilt-a-whirl; spinning first one way, then careening another. The world needed to stop and let him off.

"We sent a team…"

"How's that my problem?" He sipped more water, set the bottle down. It helped. He didn't know how or why, but somehow, the flush of warmth throughout his body subsided and the shimmering images around him settled to a mild, single, stationary shimmer.

"You agreed to come here and hear us out." Cap reminded him. He was quiet, contemplated the man who once served under his command. Spenser was still young, hadn't yet turned 30, was probably still a couple years away from it but he was no longer the young, brash hot-head who had been impossible to command. Oh, he still had a mouth, but he kept his temper, was choosing his battles, and reacted with maturity and knowledge that could only be gained from experience.

Under different circumstances, he might like to sit and have a drink with the man responsible for pulling Spenser into line, making him the elite sniper he was capable of being. But that would be Jason Hayes and he had no intentions whatsoever of ever sitting down with the man he labeled a 'fucking prick'.

Hell, he hoped to never even meet the man.

_That was before you let lose the herd of elephants to tromp on my head._

"I can't do this." Clay said thickly. "Not right now. Let me get some sleep." Seriously, he felt like his aunt's cat was kneading his tender-to-touch belly with two, small front paws. Only this time, with each beat of his heart, the cat was a tiger who palpated his belly, and every now and again, just for the hell of it, took a swipe at his head.

And you know what? Tigers weighed a hell of a lot more than his aunt's 8-pound cat.

Ow.

He'd finally fallen asleep on his bunk in the room he'd been shown to, a room he had to himself when someone had come knocking, telling him he was needed at the command center. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep since landing, but it hadn't been long enough. He wanted his quiet, dark room and needed a few more hours of sleep before he felt he could begin to think coherently and function with any acceptable level of performance.

"Are you alright?" Someone asked.

_Do I look alright?_

Clay scowled, bit his tongue. Instead of speaking, he lowered his hands, raised his swollen, puffy bruised faced with blood-shot, red-rimmed eyes and blinked.

He heard whistles, gasps, curses, oohs and aahs over and about his appearance. Huh, didn't everyone know he'd attempted and failed to break a sink away from a wall with his head? Oh, he'd cracked it loose, but….

"The hell's this?"

"Look at him!"

"What the hell happened to him?"

"Cap?"

"He was medically cleared." Cap replied peevishly. "No concussion." Honestly, it didn't bother him Spenser was uncomfortable and in pain. If he had his way, he'd keep Spenser up and in command, and then send him out with no rest, no sleep, nothing to eat.

"Has he seen a doctor since he landed?"

"Someone take him to the infirmary, get him looked at. We'll take this up in the morning."

"He can't leave base yet anyway."

"Yeah, about that, Hayes is making noise."

"Blackburn's kicking in doors."

"Be prepared." Someone warned.

"For what?"

"Their arrival."

"Whose?"

"Bravo's."

"Won't be coming here."

"Not their mission."

"Not even a Tier One mission."

"You do know _who_ you took _him _from, right?"

"So what?"

"They're coming after him, trust me. Mark my words. Hear me now."

"That's bullshit."

"They can't just snap their fingers and spin up on their own demand."

The door opened, and a head popped around the door. "Bravo's wheels-up. Orders are to take Spenser to see a doctor, get his head scanned, keep him here, wait for their arrival."

"You were saying?"

Someone sighed, papers were shuffled, phones rang, chimed, buzzed. Chairs scraped against the floor, monitors were turned off, computers were shut down, lights dimmed.

Cap waited for the Spenser-customary-smug-smirk but Clay was too tired, too miserable to do anything more than cross his arms on the table, lower his head to hide his face in the crook of his arm. His team was coming to get him and he'd just wait right here until they arrived. Yeah, he was okay with that.

Others in the room, however, weren't.

"Spenser?"

"Huh? What?" He rolled his face against his arm, pulled back with a hiss. Yeah, he was still sore.

"Come with me." A hand was laid on his back, patted gently. "Let's get you looked at."

"I'm okay." Clay sighed, pushed up from the table by planting both palms on its surface. "Jet lag's all. I'll sleep it off."

"Yuh-huh." The man didn't remove his hand. Jet leg? From an hour or so flight? Not likely. "So, Hayes and Blackburn, eh?"

Clay blinked, rubbed his forehead above his right eye with the heel of his hand, pushed his bangs back. "Uh?"

"Sawyer's your medic then."

"Um." He reached for the water, finished the bottle, was handed another.

"Name's Jimmy." He laughed. "Let's go and don't be giving me a hard time. Next time I see Sawyer, I'd like him to buy me a beer, not blacken my eye."

He should be happy that, despite the time and expense involved, his team was coming to get him. Why then, did he feel that sick pit in his stomach?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did the month of November go? How is it December 12th already?  
AACCKK!

Trent was hungry and exhausted. After landing from a 15-hour flight home on a cargo plane, Brock had picked him up and they'd left for West Virginia where he'd had his only meal of cookies and lemonade before breaking all speed limits ever set in a Dodge SUV, to return to base within 90 minutes to catch another flight back to Afghanistan.

At least on this flight, he had his hammock, was surrounded by people he knew and trusted and had a good fourteen hours or so to talk himself out of wringing Clay's neck when he laid eyes on the kid. If the kid had listened and not gone until after talking to Blackburn, he'd be home with his wife instead of trying to avoid his boss by pretending he was asleep.

But not Mr-dive-in-headfirst-and-hope-I-don't-break-my-neck, Clay Spenser.

Davis had called Janine who he was able to see briefly at the base before they had to leave. She was upset – no, pissed. And he didn't blame her. He'd delayed leaving Afghanistan when he could have returned with the team and when he'd finally landed on U.S. soil, hadn't even gone home before flying back out. She didn't know the specifics, would never know, but that wouldn't stop her from serving him salami and pimento loaf on dry, stale bread for the foreseeable future while the kids got pasta and chicken parmesan.

Eh, maybe he could pacify her by bringing Clay home with him for a few days. All the little shit had to do was pull a pout with blue eyes that went all emotional on command and his swollen, bruised face would elicit sympathy and hopefully, she'd forget how mad she was at her husband.

"Wanna tell me how you knew all that?" Jason stood next to Trent's gently swinging hammock.

Eyes closed, Trent stifled a sigh, willed the hammock still, so much for making the boss believe he was asleep. Right, don't go after Brock, come after him. Brock might be a man of few words, but once he got going on a subject or topic he was invested in or pissed off over, no one would be able to shut him up until he was done venting. All you had to do was nit and pick until you got him going, but apparently Jason didn't want to take the time to goad Brock into losing his temper when Trent was easier to verbally accost.

"Brock tracked down Donte Myers from Clay's unit. We paid a visit." He sat up, lowered one leg to the floor to set the hammock swinging again. Jason pushed a hand through his hair. How the hell had Brock come up with a name to track down in the first place? Brock wandered over, sat down on a crate and together, they filled their team in on their visit to Clay's ex-teammate. "Short flight, low altitude." Trent said in response to a question about Clay flying so soon despite the suggestion he wait three days. "Probably hard on him, but Blackburn ordered him checked out, so guessing he's good."

"If he's not?" Ray asked.

Trent hesitated, looked at Brock, both lowered their gaze to the floor, shrugged, fidgeted.

"Spit it out." Oh, Jason knew that look, that gesture. "I know I'm not going to like it." That was another thing that pissed him off. These two peas in a pod knew a side of Clay that he'd yet to figure out.

"Thinking it won't matter." Trent said finally. "We know what he'll push through for us. He isn't close to Cap, and the one or two guys still active from that unit that he might feel he owes something to, aren't over there, but…." He paused, shrugged, "Cap knows how to play him."

"Guilt." Brock added. "He knows how to manipulate Clay to get what he wants."

"Meaning?"

"Cap has a bum shoulder. Clay shot through him to save Watkins. Surgery repaired most of the damage, but he has limited range. It took him out of the field, reduced him to command."

Heads swung to pin Phil Crawford with death glares. Blackburn huffed, hand in his hair. Everything he'd read, watched, seen, heard hadn't alluded to any injury to Cap.

"Crawford?" Eric questioned, eyebrow quirked. "You forgot to mention that."

"That's classified." Phil sputtered. How the hell did Bravo find out information like this? _HOW!? _

"But true?"

"So, the kid had to make a split-second decision, shoot his team leader to save a teammate, I getting that right?" Sonny asked. "Risk injuring someone permanently to save the life of a man already tortured? You put him in that situation? You're a sonofabitch."

"That's pretty hard to come back from." Ray frowned, wondered how Spenser had dealt with it all.

"Look, your boy Spenser was off the rails that mission. He disobeyed orders, led an unauthorized rescue and not only engaged in a fist-fight with his team leader, he also _shot_ him."

"He saved a teammate from unspeakable torture. Disfigurement. Dismemberment."

"He caused the death of three…."

"Don't. You. Dare." Ray warned. "Watch it Crawford."

Eric slapped a file in front of Phil. "Your _entire_ black-op is now declassified – _all of it_ – to everyone on this plane. Start again, from the beginning, and this time, don't leave anything out."

"Like how Clay shooting his team leader was edited out of the footage we were shown." Sonny drawled. "Sir." He added with heavy sarcasm.

"How did you find Donte Myers? Even know his name?" Phil stared at Brock. "Christ!"

Brock shrugged, smirked infuriatingly with a nonchalance that had Phil drawing blood from chewing his cheek, fondled Cerb's ears. Retired or medically discharged vets often had a companion dog and that dog had a trainer and that trainer knew someone who trained dogs for the military whose organization knew of an organization that helped place retired military dogs and matched soldiers and sailors suffering from injury or mental illness with a support or comfort or service dog, and so on and so forth.

"I'm thinking," Jason said slowly, turning to face Eric. "They don't know who she is. Every photo and video we've seen, shows her dressed in robes and a hijab from seven years ago. She wouldn't be easily recognizable. They don't even know how old she is. Right Crawford? You need Clay to identify her. You think you've found her and want him to confirm it." Questions was, if Cap had seen her the same two times Clay had, what made him think Clay could identify her any more than he could?

"You fucking prick." Sonny stood up. "If anything happens to him….we get him back and Trent says there's a new bruise anywhere on him, your face is gonna look like his did, the last time I saw him."

And that right there was why Blackburn didn't request a transfer or retire: The mind of Jason Hayes. The loyalty of Bravo to one another.

"Sit down and shut up." Phil ordered angrily. Sonny didn't move. "We've been after her since she planned the ambush that led to three dead members of the U.S. Navy. We will get her by any means necessary."

"Clay isn't a means to an end."

"If that sonofabitch guilts our kid into going off to meet a bunch of terrorists without us, he's gonna end up with two bum shoulders." Sonny vowed.

Phil Crawford glowered, sat down in defeat and motioned for a video to roll.

***000***

After submitting to numerous cognitive tests as well as another CT scan, or maybe it was an MRI, assuring the doctor he had indeed flown with medical clearance, and convincing Jimmy he hadn't voluntarily tried to break a sink off a wall with his face, Clay was finally released to return to his quarters and allowed to seek his bed.

It felt like he'd been poked prodded, maneuvered and questioned for _hours_, but in reality, much less time had passed. Still, he ached and his face throbbed and he gave up trying to untie his laces and worked the boots off his feet by brute strength. Two seconds after the second boot hit a wall and fell to the floor with a thud, his jeans were off and he was in bed.

He knew he was wanted back in the command center, but he just couldn't bring himself to go, so he'd just wait here until someone came and got him. The doctor had tried to call Doc but he was unavailable, which told Clay, he was on the plane coming to get him with Bravo. Clay had the number of a satellite phone that would reach someone on the plane but he didn't share that information or offer the number. He didn't want to deal with it because he wanted a nap before getting yelled at.

He sighed, mother hen and her duckling both on his ass meant he wouldn't have a moment's peace, maybe he shouldn't be here when they arrived. He frowned, punched his pillowcase – pillow, humph – damn thing was flat. Trent would kick his ass, he had to track down Clay to see him for himself and if Doc had to do any chasing…geesch, he'd issue medical orders that involved ice baths, being bled by leeches, consumption of cod liver oil or some other medieval torture that at one time in recorded history, had passed as acceptable medical treatment.

The doctor had even tried to call the quack Clay had seen at the infirmary the day the sink laughed at his head's attempts to dislodge it, but that good Doc had been unexpectedly and suddenly reassigned – to where, no one seemed to know. Clay rolled onto his back, gingerly felt his eyes, his nose, grinned. Undoubtedly, Blackburn was behind that.

Bravo really owed their Lieutenant Commander a lifetime supply of his favorite liquor. He put up with a lot of shit. Though maybe,his wife and liver might disagree. Sooo….what else would Blackburn appreciate? His team behaving, not sassing back….maybe they could try 'yes, sirring' him for a week.

His stomach growled. He lowered a hand to pat his belly button in a lame attempt to appease it. Jimmy had brought him some fruit and cheese in case he felt like eating but he wasn't hungry – least, he hadn't thought he was. His mind was awhirl. He was confused, lost and more than a bit apprehensive. His ability to think was non-existent. He should be able to put together whatever Cap was up to, but all he could do was lie there and try to determine if green apples were ripe enough to eat.

Bravo was coming to get him. Part of him was tickled, proud, pleased. The other part, not so much. It wasn't like he'd had run away from home. He'd been given orders and he'd obeyed them, had wanted to, but he well knew – hell, everyone knew – Jason hated anyone taking anything he considered his, away from him.

That – Jason not giving his 'permission' – would've motivated Jason into action faster than Clay haring off on his own on a mission with another unit. Either way, he was fucked. Once again, he was the reason Bravo was off on an expensive, un-needed mission and he didn't even know how the hell he'd ended up there.

Or maybe he did. Christ, his head hurt. He should get up, find some ice. The doctor had released him from the infirmary with a couple of those instant ice packs Trent was so fond of and used all the time….just, where the hell had he left them?

His skull kicked his temple, caused him to moan, press a palm against his eyebrows, reminded him it was not at all happy with his feeble attempts to ignore it. What was he doing? Trying to do? Eat? Make ice? Think? Wait….oh right…..yeah…Cap. There was no way in hell Wasiqa had agreed to a meeting with the American military.

No. Way. In. Hell.

And nothing anyone said or did would convince him otherwise. She wouldn't even had responded to any rumors or attempts to contact her. With her husband dead, all she wanted was to be left alone to live the life of a simple farmer in a peaceful village. She was done with death and destruction and violence.

Yes, she had known about her husband's activities but her involvement had ended as soon as she celebrated his death. Yes, she had been behind the attack on his unit at the warehouse and yes, she had ensured Clay was nowhere near the building when it blew. Yes, she had taken Barry Watkins, authorized his torture, expected a rescue attempt, laid a trap. Yes, she had planned to kill everyone involved but she hadn't expected to see Clay with the rescue team and her plans had been altered.

She promised to withdraw and disappear if Clay would let her go. What sense that made, he didn't know but he did and she had. So, what had prompted Cap to send a team out looking for her now? He rubbed his closed eyes wearily, thought about getting up to get something to eat, find the ice packs, didn't move.

Cap wanted her dead for the destruction she'd wrought on his unit. Cap blamed him for her getting away but Clay felt if he'd just listened, left the well alone and walked away, none of what followed would have happened. Wasiqa damn well knew the fist-fight between Cap and Clay had been about the well and the humane treatment of the animals and residents of the village.

He had neither proof nor confirmation, but he guessed she had decided on revenge when Cap had laughed derisively and scorned Clay's attempts to plead on their behalf. Members of his team had pulled him and Cap apart and Brian had told him to take a walk, calm down, get his head together but still hot-headed when Cap mockingly ordered the men to continue, he'd put a bullet through the canister before it could be dumped in the well.

Cap had been so furious that Brian and Myers had then bodily picked Clay up and carried him away. Cap blamed him for the explosion at the warehouse and the trap when they'd rescued Watkins but the Navy had agreed with Clay that orders hadn't been to kill villagers, even though Cap had claimed she'd tried to kill him. She hadn't. Yes, she'd struck him, but not with a weapon and had done him no harm. Cap had ruthlessly put her down, actually punched her with a closed fist and Clay believed _that_ was the reason she had targeted the team. That and Cap's attitude and behavior at the village, not anything Clay had done.

That's what he liked and respected about Jason. His willingness to hear his men out. No one on Bravo would ever lay a hand on a woman unless it was to protect themselves or a teammate. And Bravo One would listen to his men's thoughts and opinions. He acknowledged someone might have a better understanding or know more about a country or culture than he did. He might not always agree or see things the same way, but he _listened_.

Clay might drive Jason to drink, turn his hair grey, be the cause for Blackburn's dependency on anti-acids, but he couldn't imagine ever doing anything that would provoke Jason to punch him. The same couldn't be said for Cap, making Clay leery to trust him and loathe to follow him.

His skull kicked harder, aimed behind his left ear. That was odd. He didn't usually get headaches behind his ears. He should get up and find something cold to eat. Another home remedy from Grandma Sawyer that either worked because it was effective or worked because Clay thought it did. Either way, his head was aching badly enough, he needed to go in search of a popsicle. Funny how an ice pack on his face made his head feel cold but holding something cold against the roof of his mouth, made his head feel better.

Cap blamed Clay for his loss of career in the field. He blamed Clay for what happened to Myers, Watkins. He blamed Clay for the deaths of three good, decent men. He blamed Clay for everything and had been absolutely furious the Navy hadn't. That Clay hadn't.

And Clay hadn't because Cap had refused to listen. He'd understood every word she had screamed at Cap and when Clay had tried to tell his boss who she was, that she had means, connections and power, he'd been shut down. Cap hadn't wanted to hear it, hadn't let Clay explain, hadn't listened to Brian who had tried to intervene.

Cap didn't even know who she was by sight. He'd only ever seen her dressed in robes and head scarves. No one knew Clay had a conversation with her after waking up from being clobbered and relocated. When she'd said she'd spare his life – would always spare his life – because of his actions at the village but she wasn't responsible for the actions of others.

So, when and how had Cap figured out Clay could identify her? If his head weren't so muddled, if it didn't hurt to think, if his ears hadn't clogged up to keep his brain inside his skull, he'd be able to pull _all_ his thoughts together and put them in some sort of order.

Did Cap intend to risk war between those in authority, the U.S. troops, local police, insurgents, terrorists' groups? Because that's what he was going to get, he went and stirred shit up, called her out. Cap simply didn't get, or refused to accept, what happened to Myers and Watkins, the three deaths, happened because of his actions, not Clay's.

During their brief conversation after he'd shot Cap and Brian had Barry in his arms, he'd asked why she had taken a hostage, had it been a trap to lure the rest of the team to their deaths, but she hadn't answered. He'd told her he'd been the one to find where she was holding Watkins and he would keep the knowledge that she, not her husband, had run the ISIS network to himself since she had never targeted U.S. military before, if she'd go underground.

She'd allowed him to take Watkins and leave and that had been the last time he'd seen or heard from her.

Until now.

What the hell was he doing here? He didn't owe Cap a damn thing and this was not going to go over well with his team. From Blackburn to Cerberus, they'd let him have it.

Hell, he didn't know and he was too tired and in too much discomfort to figure it out. He owed her for letting him take Watkins and the men with him and leave. The team would never have made it out alive if she hadn't let them. And she'd only done so, because Clay had been there. It hadn't mattered she was the reason they were there in the first place.

He expected a knock on the door, summoning him to command, but none came. Good Christ, but his head hurt. How many days ago had it been since his encounter with the sink? Trent had kept saying he'd feel better after three or so…but he didn't. Maybe it had been the flight. Didn't matter. He was alone, in a quiet, alone dark room and he intended to sleep until someone came to wake him up.

His body's demands for rest fought with his desire to appease his head. So, purple popsicle? Or red. Would probably be orange. He rolled off the bed, pushed to his feet. Fuck his boots. It was hot outside and he was only walking to the mess tent – wherever the hell that was. Where was Brock when you needed him? That man could sniff cinnamon through a concrete wall.

He found an ice pack, activated it, wrapped it in a towel, held it over his face in just the way, he could blearily see out of one eye. He opened the door and stepped outside before he remembered he wasn't wearing pants.

He didn't care. Now that he was upright, he had more urgent thoughts on his mind.

Who would get their way first? Jason or Cap?  
A Jason versus Cap fist fight was inevitable.  
Sonny was gonna lose his shit.  
If he was ordered out before Bravo arrived, whose ass would get kicked first?  
And if he went without Bravo, how long before he'd be forgiven?  
And when they found him, would he be hit or hugged?

()()()

"Where the hell is Spenser?" Cap demanded when Jimmy returned alone to command. He craned his neck to look behind the smirking man who was slow to move out of the doorway. He was in the process of standing up when Jimmy finally moved and it became obvious to everyone in the room Clay wasn't behind him. He sank back into his chair, hand rubbing his shoulder.

"You talking to me?" Jimmy asked calmly. "By order of his CO and the doctor, he went to bed."

"He's not here to go to bed." Cap fumed. "The doctor sent his report, he's cleared to operate." He ignored the comment 'but not recommended' muttered by someone in the room. "When can I expect him in command?"

A woman closed folders, stacked them neatly, pushed to her feet. "When his team gets here." Cap glared. "Don't give me that look, those are the orders I've received."

"We don't need Bravo."

She shrugged, picked up her laptop, tucked it under her arm. "Regardless, you're getting them. Good day, gentlemen."

Jimmy followed her from the room, leaving Cap with the remaining occupants to discuss a new plan.

"….never thought Bravo…."

"….I mean, who'd believe they'd come…."

"….it's just Spenser…."

"….he's one man…"

"…who does Blackburn think he is?"

"…fucking Hayes. Never could stand the guy."

Cap held his shoulder that all of a sudden ached. Spenser's fault. The little shit. Always thinking he was better than everyone one else. Better shot, better fighter, better strategist.

He wouldn't wait for the rescue team to go after Watkins. Nope, he'd insisted on going then and there and once Armstrong had agreed, there'd been no stopping the rest of the men from lining up behind Spenser to go get their man. Cap had been in charge but the men had backed Spenser, not him and Cap had finally been forced to accept they were going with or without him. He'd agreed to join them because it would have 'looked bad', had he not.

On paper, in reports, on official documents, it said Cap had led the rescue, but everyone knew it had been Spenser. Knew the only reason Watkins was alive with all body parts intact was because of Spenser, not Cap. He wondered what her plan would have been, had it not been his team to walk to into the trap to save Watkins. Would she have left Watkins alive; no hands, no feet, blind, deaf, mute?

Dammit it to hell, the whore had been there and fucking Spenser had chosen to save Watkins instead of securing her capture. Spenser had never confirmed it was the same woman from the village, but Cap damn well knew it was. She had witnessed the disagreement, the fist-fight and Cap bet she spoke perfect English which meant she knew what the fight had been about.

Cap had been bleeding on the floor, the men disoriented from the sudden attack from a way laid trap that included 50 cal rounds, flash bangs, fire and smoke from explosions. Spenser could have grabbed her, cuffed her..._he could have had her_! But no. He had stepped over Cap and gone with Armstrong straight to Watkins. Words between Spenser and Jaber had been exchanged but no one knew what the hell had been said.

It burned him that Spenser had been able to understand what she'd said at the village. That was part of the reason Cap had wanted to wait for the rescue team. An interpreter would have been with them and nothing said between the whore and Spenser would have been secret. Pfft, Spenser had later revealed what they'd said in debrief, but Cap knew he hadn't revealed the entire conversation.

If she'd been at the warehouse explosion, she'd remained hidden because no one had reported seeing her. And Spenser of course, had been 'relocated' but….what if….what if….before he'd made his way back to the base…when he first woke up….he hadn't been alone? What if she had been there and they'd had the chance to…talk?

She'd never been seen nor heard from again after she disappeared from the building Spenser had let her walk out of. Cap had spent the last seven years searching for her but nothing had popped on up on the radar until a month ago when someone had heard someone say something about 'Jaber's widow' and here they were, finally closing in.

Watkins was alive because Spenser took an impossible shot. Thanks to Spenser's heroics, he'd returned home and despite what he had been through, with counseling and support groups, was living a fairly normal life, all limbs and senses intact, capable of functioning and his kids still had a father. And Cap still had a career in the military, could still shoot, throw, do everything a man was capable of, just…despite several surgeries, the injury had never healed correctly, not in combat or in the field.

Was that Spenser's fault? Depended on who you asked. The Navy had cleared him of any wrong-doing, hailed him a hero, let him do what he wanted, which was to leave for Green Team and now here he was, running with Bravo, of all god-damn mother-fucking teams. How the hell had that arrogant little asshole landed with the one man in the entire Navy who was famously known for being fiercely protective of what he considered his? The luck Spenser had burned a hole daily in his gut.

He believed because Spenser had never liked or respected him, hadn't felt any remorse for taking the shot that had ended his operating days, for ruining his career to save the life of another. Three men dead, Donte Myers maimed for life, Watkins never right mentally again, he out of the field. And Armstrong – a decent man anyone would be happy to call friend – dead in a training accident. And Spenser had walked away with a bump on the head. Not fair.

Cap had never met Blackburn or anyone on Bravo but their reputation was well known and he harbored a hatred based on envy, jealousy. And now knowing what lengths the team would go to, what they would demand and go through, to reach Spenser's side made him see red. He could chew nails, swallow and spit them out, he was so pissed off!

"Cap?"

"Yeah." Cap reached for the file being held out to him. "Where we at?"

***000***

The C17 landed and Bravo gathered their gear, trudged down the ramp. They were tired, antsy, pissed, anxious and hungry.

Eric wanted an update.  
Jason wanted someone to yell at.  
Ray wanted a sandwich.  
Sonny wanted someone to hit.  
Trent wanted to talk to the infirmary doctor.  
Brock wanted to lay eyes on Clay.  
Jason and Sonny got their wish.

They were met and offered an escort to their quarters. They ignored the man and headed straight to command – easy to find, it was the only building with a light shining from every window - where all hell immediately broke loose.

Those in command were surprised to see Bravo. Oh, they'd expected their arrival, just not quite so soon. Despite Bravo's reputation, there simply was no way, even they, could change the laws of physics and fly here faster.

One would think.

When Crawford was informed Clay wasn't in his quarters, Jason found someone to yell at.  
When Cap entered the room with a smirk, Sonny found someone to hit.

"OW!" Cap yelped, hands clutching his nose. "Who the hell are you?! You broke it!" He turned to Jimmy. "Did he break it? It's broken, isn't it?"

"Blackburn, control you man."

"You shouldn't hit someone of superior rank." Ray scolded, hesitated. Should he go after Jason? Deal with Sonny? Go after Trent and Brock who had both left the room when chaos had erupted. What were they up to?

"He ain't superior to nothing." Sonny muttered, but after a look from Blackburn, he pulled out a chair, sat down, reached for files and papers strewn on the table. "What have we here?"

"YOU HAD NO RIGHT!" Jason, across the room, was shouting at Phil.

"Hayes, for Christ Sake, sit down." Crawford sighed. "Blackburn!"

"That sonofabitch broke my nose!" Cap howled. "Put him in cuffs! I want him in cuffs."

"You said he'd be here." Jason ranted.

"His orders were to remain on base." Crawford insisted. "Cap doesn't have the authority to override that."

"Who does?"

"I. Don't. Know."

"You'd better find out.

Eric pushed his hands through his hair. "Doesn't matter now Jason. He can't be far, they'll round him up. While we wait for them to bring him over, let's get caught up on..."

"You're not doing anything," bloody towel in one hand, Cap pushed to his feet. "I outrank you Blackburn, you aren't calling the shots here."

Eric slapped a folder on the table, snapped his fingers for someone to boot up a laptop and display images on the large TV screen. The buzz in the room fell silent, everyone waited for the next move.

"You're no longer in charge." Eric said calmly. "Wasiqa did not send out a request for a meeting. She went to ground seven years ago and hasn't been heard from since. Not a rumor, not a sighting, no chatter. You encouraged Spenser to report to you based on false intel. Hell, you manufactured it."

"What are you getting at Blackburn?" Cap spat. "You're not wanted here. Hell, I don't even know how the hell you got permission to come here. This mission does not require a Tier One team."

"Just Spenser." Sonny piped up. "Coffee? Anyone got coffee? Oh, thanks," he sniffed a mug someone handed him. "Is it fresh? No decaf, is it? Donuts? Yo Brock!" He snagged a box, pulled it closer. "Any maple?"

"You want her dead and you can't even identify her. You need Spenser to do that and you got him here by playing on his loyalty to his team, his guilt over what happened to Watkins, Myers."

"The moment that bitch laid a hand on me, he should have put a bullet through her damn head." Cap stalked around the table. "If he had, none of it would have happened!"

"Don't put your failures on a 20-year-old kid." Jason spoke up. "When you found no evidence in that village to support the claims it was involved with insurgents, you should have scattered the livestock, burned it to the ground. No need to poison the well."

"Look who she turned out to be."

"No one." Ray said calmly. "She was no one until you poked and provoked her and here you are, wanting to do it again."

"After seven years, I finally have a lead on the bitch." Cap slapped the TV, the image showed a destroyed village dated seven years ago. "It could have, should have, ended here. It didn't, but by Christ, it's going to end this time."

"You're just all pissed off that Spenser came out smelling like roses." Sonny munched, swallowed the bite of donut with coffee that could be hotter. "If you'd poisoned the well, he would have been blown up with the rest of the unit but didn't happen that way, now did it?"

"Bet that's stuck up your ass, huh." Jason didn't wither under the glare Cap leveled him with. He stepped closer, now in Cap's personal space. "You're not going to use him to draw her out."

"What makes you think she'll even respond?" Ray asked. "Don't tell us she responded to your request for a meeting by asking for Clay. That's bullshit."

"Shows how stupid he is." Sonny remarked. "Thinking we'd believe that."

"What?" Cap held a towel of ice against his nose someone had handed him. Sonny snickered, commented that Cap now looked just like Clay. "What did you say?"

"You brought Clay here thinking he was going to meet with her to talk about rumors of unrest in the area." Ray said. "Not lead her into a trap for her capture."

Jason caught Eric's eye as the conversation erupted around them. Eric shook his head, nodded, threw his hands up in the motion of defeat.

"We don't trust her."

"Nor should you."

"…she's agreed to the meeting….?"

"Was it her? How do you know it was? How was this meeting arranged? You sure about this?"

"After all this time, you were able to reach out to her?"

"Not suspicious at all."

"ENOUGH!" Jason roared, capped his temper. "We aren't through." He told Cap. "Whatever guilt trip you laid on that kid's gonna end with me."

"Stow your crap Hayes." Cap sneered.

"He might not have ended your career seven years ago, but he comes back with a bruise, I'll end it for you now."

"Jay, truck is loaded, let's go." Trent popped his head around the door.

"Truck? What truck?" Cap demanded. "Loaded with what? Go where? Crawford…"

"Out of my hands Cap." Phil replied. "You were told to produce Spenser when Bravo arrived, you didn't."

"For Christ sake! They're looking for his ass! He'll be here!"

"How hard is it to find one man on a base this small?"

"How does that explain their access to a truck?" Cap ignored Crawford. "Weapons? No way did they bring a truck on the plane big enough…."

"Commander." Randy entered with Brock. "Good to go."

"Set up there." Eric told Randy, handed him a folder. "Address and coordinates of the alleged meet."

"How the fuck did you get that?"

"Let me connect with Davis, get eyes in the sky."

"Eyes?" Cap repeated startled. "A drone? You can't be serious."

"Well, unless you wish to grant me access to yours?" Randy waited, but no one met his eyes. "What I thought."

Trent stood aside to allow Jimmy entrance into the room. He approached the table, turned to Cap. "Sir, we…."

"Where is he this time?" Cap asked crossly. "And I don't want to hear he's whining about needing sleep. I ordered him to command and I expect him to be here."

"Sir, we can't find him." Jimmy said. "We've looked everywhere. He's not in the showers or the mess tent or the rec center or the infirmary or the gym. No one has seen him."

"What are you saying?" Eric asked.

"I'm saying sir, he's nowhere on this base."

"Go." Eric told Bravo, "I'll cover here."

Still in the doorway, Trent pulled out his cell, made a call: Dutch disconnected, addressed his men.

"Gear up, we're hitting the hills." He announced. "We'll split up here. Chuck, Greg stand by. Randy's with Blackburn. Chris, Seth, Kenny and Karl, with Bravo. Rest of you, with me."

"Our mission?"

"Spenser's missing."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Bravo didn't go.

Jason had a fist full of Cap's shirt before anyone could intervene. No one on Bravo even bothered. Blackburn just stood, hands on his hips, rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"Hey! Here now Hayes!"

Hands reached for him as orders were shouted, commands given but Jason hauled Cap, who at some point had resumed his seat, from his chair, sending it skittering on its wheels into a far table, threw him against a wall. In his face, Jason easily wrangled the towel of ice away from him, threw it aside.

"You don't order him to do anything? That clear? He's not yours to command." Jason breathed heavily, struggling for control. "We'd better find that kid on this base or I'll bury you in sub beneath the Arctic ocean."

"You don't have the authority…" Cap began with a sneer.

Jason jerked a thumb at Blackburn. "Wipe that sneer off your face, you might think you outrank him, but don't go betting on it."

Cap growled, slapped at Jason's wrist. "He hasn't left the base. No way he could have." He was ineffective gaining his freedom and it pissed him off, pushed him to say things he probably shouldn't have, because he was even pissing off Ray. "No _reason_ to, right? He's so loyal and dedicated, he wouldn't leave before you got here, eh? He knew you were on your way and yet…." Cap curled a lip. "How's that for obedience?"

"You don't know him very well, do you?" Ray was collecting papers and putting them in a file.

"If you think his loyalty is to you, then you don't either." Cap's head bounced off the wall with such a thud, people again moved to break him and Jason apart. "Chew on that, you prick. How's it feel? Huh?" He pegged Jason with a glare that could only be interpreted as hatred. "Guess he don't toe the line, even for you, Hayes."

"Shut the fuck up." Sonny had a hand in Cap's hair, craned his neck back to an awkward angle, Jason between them. "Cerb here, will respond and obey any of us, unless Brock gives him a counter command. Kid's the same way, doesn't matter where his orders came from, Jason overrides it, you bet your life, Spenser will obey."

"I'm going to be sitting right here when you find out that didn't happen." Cap shot back. "See how smug you are then, now _get_ your hands off me."

"He was a kid. You had the opportunity to help him become a man, mold him into a Tier One Operator." Eric glared, he was too far way to get between any of his men and Cap, and he had no intentions of moving closer. "But he was smarter than you, ain't that right? Faster with more talent and his teammates looked to him over your leadership when he disagreed with you. Ego take a hit, Cap?"

"Fuck you Blackburn." Cap snarled. "Flew your entire team over here for a mission you aren't authorized to run. What does that say about your great team?"

"Says we're cleaning up your mess." Eric replied mildly, face in a file folder. "And they're on their way to find the man you brought over here, and lost."

Sonny submitted to Ray's hand on his chest, let go of Cap, stepped back but his hands remained fisted, his shoulders tense. It pissed him off Ray hadn't even tried to make Jason let go of the asshole.

"You flew all the way here, for what? Some sense of misguided loyalty to a man who will turn his back on his team and aide the enemy?" Cap fumed, continued. "Don't be thinking the oh-so-great Bravo will be any different to him."

"Watch your tongue." Sonny growled, taking a step forward and being pushed two steps back by Ray. "I'll be happy to curb it for you."

"He stood toe to toe, in my face, defending those…." He caught himself before he uttered the ethnic slur on the tip of his tongue. "He argued with me in front of my men, those…" again, he bit his tongue. "…the locals. Took their side against me! That bitch put her hands on me…."

"Aanndd….meet the reason the kid gets his ass kicked by women." Brock reminded Trent, pointed directly at Cap so no one could possibly miss his meaning.

The room went silent, still. Trent fought a grin. Brock never said much, but when he did, he could halt all activity in a room, grind it to a silent stop…even a Navy command center in freaking Afghanistan.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Cap demanded, forgetting Sonny, Ray, Eric and turning to face Brock.

"Means you punched a woman and she blew your team to hell."

"She attacked me! Tried to prevent my men from carrying out their orders!"

"You were in no danger." Brock scoffed. "You brutally put her in the sand over a damn well. That make you a man? Make you tough? Go ahead, pound your fists on your chest."

"He disobeyed direct orders! Then! That time! Every god-damn time! Always bucked authority, questioned leadership. If he had done what he was told, what I taught him…"

"Taught him? He saw you blow a simple mission to hell." Jason took back the conversation. "Watched you mishandle the entire situation and as a result; three teammates dead, two injured, one of which, was maimed for life, one kidnapped and tortured. Yeah, you taught him enough."

"You're gonna stand there and tell me, you trust that smart-mouthed punk, even though you can't understand a damn word he's saying when he talks to these people?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna say that." Jason replied, oh-so-softly. He was seconds away from seeing if he could punch Cap hard enough, he knocked his teeth down his throat. He knew he could knock teeth loose with one punch, just didn't know whether or not he could make the prick choke on them. "There's not a man on Bravo who wouldn't."

"Got a signal." They were interrupted by Randy. "Davis?"

"Right here. On it." Came the reply. She and Mandy had remained on the C17 where they would be able to run their own surveillance. "Eyes will come on line in 20."

"You can track…." Randy had multiple maps in front of him, both paper and digital. "….we get air clearance, Chuck can fly in, 'til then, you're on foot." He pointed, typed, enlarged, adjusted, focused. "Can drive to here….take this path, we'll guide you from there."

"Up hill." Sonny sighed over-dramatically. "Has to be up hill. Can't he ever just be found smelling daisies in a meadow reached by a flat path?"

"Daises aren't known for their pleasant scent." Said someone and someone else responded with. "What scent? They don't have a scent, do they?"

"What are you talking about? Who's Chuck? Fly what, where?" Cap jerked free of Jason, stomped over to stand behind Randy. "What is that? Drive? That's a mountain, you can't drive…..why there?"

"How'd he get that far out on foot?" Trent mused, taping the screen. "He's still moving."

"He's on foot." Randy agreed. "Signal is strong, but the satellite will change position in 30 minutes, might wink in and out when it does."

"Signal? Satellite?" Cap asked. "What the hell is going on?"

"Come now Cap," Ray said easily. "Surely you know how hard it is to keep track of that kid. We lost him one too many times, so he carries a GPS tracker, a beacon, a strobe."

"And his phone." Brock added. "Where're his quarters? Let Cerb get a fresh scent."

"That dog is trained to detect explosives. It's not a bloodhound."

Brock pointed to himself. "Meet me. Dog trainer. _That_ dog can track any scent, 'cause yeah, I'm that good."

Phil fumed, Cap gaped and Blackburn laughed.

"Only one active is the GPS in his watch." Randy was telling Jason. "He's not kitted up." He typed and tapped. "Phone is on, appears to be here on base."

"He was in bed, last anyone knew." Jimmy spoke up. "Took him there myself. I'll show you."

"What's that you were saying, no way he could have left the base?" Sonny asked Cap sarcastically.

"He couldn't have." Cap insisted. "Cameras would have caught him."

"I'm tracking him." Randy snarked.

"This is bullshit!" Cap exclaimed. "Why are you saying, have already decided, he's gone? I'm telling you, he didn't get off this base without me knowing it. It's not possible."

"You do know who we're taking about, right?" Ray questioned. "Didn't you help train him? His team under you was his first platoon, right?" He shook his head, baffled over the other man's attitude. "He doesn't want to be found; he won't be."

"Trained him how to do everything wrong." Sonny muttered.

"He shouldn't have." Blackburn corrected, held Jason's eyes. Had Clay left voluntarily, and if so, why? What would have tempted him to leave knowing Bravo was en route? And if he hadn't, who had gotten close enough to remove him from a heavily armed military base?

"All I'm saying is," Sonny poked Cap in the chest with a finger. "When get him back, he'd sure as hell better be okay or he won't be the only one needing a hospital."

"If…" Cap slapped Sonny's hand away. "...you get him back." Man, it galled him to no end these Bravo's pissants had the audacity to lay their hands on him and no one in the room did a damn thing about it. This southern accented lout had punched him and no one had even verbally reprimanded him. He would be filing a complaint! He outranked them all and laying hand on a superior was certainly punishable. "Didn't it occur to you, he might not want to be found?" He ignored the chorus of voices that sputtered in outrage, uttered vows of; bodily harm, death threats, phrases and words, such as: No. Fuck you. Shut your mouth. Can I hit him? You're never gonna walk right again. That's it, I'm killing him. Sic 'im Cerb. You're an asshole. "And IF you do, and I find out he risked the lives of anyone who went after his ass, I'll have him up on charges and not even the mighty duo of Hayes and Blackburn will be able to save his career," he paused, added with a sneer, "or his freedom."

"That's enough out of you." Blackburn snapped. "I'm done with him. Someone remove him, get him outta here."

"Remove me? You can't do that! This is my op!"

"The only op being run out of this command center is the one where Spenser is found and we get him back." Eric said. "And that's _my_ op."

"Blackburn, you don't…."

"Whatever this op is, was, it doesn't include Bravo." Eric told Phil who watched Bravo ooze fluidly from the room, slide out in a line like a snake disappearing under a rock, shook his head. Man, they could move silently and quickly, disappear right in front of your eyes. "He can run his op from somewhere else. He's not ever getting Spenser…" and the door closed behind Ray, the last to leave the room.

Crawford was defeated and he knew it. He'd lost control of this mission, the op, everything. Somehow, it had become Blackburn's baby and Bravo was running it.

"Jason." Eric caught up with his team leader in the hallway just outside the command room door. "A minute."

"Make it fast. I've got somewhere to be."

"Called a few people, reached out," he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't trust Cap."

"Neither do I."

"No, Jason…I don't…look I don't put it past him to stage Spenser being taken, to try and draw her out." Eric nodded when Jason caught on. "She knows he's here. She knows everything Jason. If she believes some affiliate of local insurgents or militant group has taken him…"

"You think she'd come try and get him?"

"Rescue him? Yeah, I do and Cap thinks the same way."

Jason cursed, kicked at the wall. "What the hell is it about Spenser that he always finds this kind of trouble? If it isn't one thing, it's another. I let him out of my sight to wash his hands, he gets jumped in the jon. Leave him behind and where are we?"

Eric laid a hand on Jason's shoulder. "You don't know what you're going after. If he was taken, and it's looking like he was, we don't know if whoever took him has orders to kill."

Jason nodded. "We'll go in like we do." He sighed. "You think he wants Spenser dead?"

"He wants Wasiqa Jabber and he'll use Clay to get her."

"Bury him." Jason ordered.

Eric nodded, oh, he was already working on it.

***000***

Clay woke up, came to, greeted consciousness, became aware – call it whatever – hot, sweaty and in no small amount of pain. He ached from the back of his neck down to the back of his thighs. His back, shoulders and hips throbbed with every beat of his heart….what the hell had caused that?

His head didn't feel any worse, he supposed he could be thankful for that, but it certainly didn't feel any better either. As he became more awake, he realized he was sitting on a wood chair, his arms stretched painfully behind him in an awkward position and after a few fruitless tugs on his wrists, admitted he was tied to it and he wouldn't be freeing himself. He slowly raised his chin off his chest…his head protested the move…aah, that explained the sore neck.

Great. Just fucking great.

All he'd wanted was a god-damn popsicle for a fucking aching head and, where was he? Off base, missing, tied to a chair, and injured. Jesus Christ. Felled by a desire for flavored ice.

It was all Trent's fault, he thought irritably, waiting for his head to stop trying to kill him. He knew it was sitting still atop his shoulders, right where it belonged, but it sure as hell felt like it was bopping around like a balloon tugging against the string it was tethered to in a bad wind. If the medic hadn't told him eating something cold helped ease headaches, he would have never left his quarters.

But that was how bad his head had hurt, he'd been willing to try anything, so yeah, not really Trent's fault. It was his own but he wasn't ready to admit that flying when Trent had advised him against it, had been wrong.

Rolling his head to crack the stiffness out of his neck, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light, focus on his surroundings. He didn't feel any pain from broken bones, but he was numb and couldn't feel all that much anyway. Even if he were suddenly released, his hands and feet would be too numb to fight or to get up and walk away.

He licked his dry lips with a dry tongue. His mouth, devoid of any moisture, made him wonder how long he'd been sitting in such an awkward position, unconscious. Long enough to be in pain and desperately thirsty.

With a sigh, he relaxed his muscles as much as he could, willed the tense set of his shoulders away, but his position and the tight pull of the ropes didn't allow for any comfort. He could wiggle two fingers on his left hand, but both hands were puffy from restricted circulation. Did dehydration cause that?

He had no idea what time it was, or how much time had passed, but if Bravo wasn't already on the ground, they soon would be, so it wouldn't be long before they came looking for him. His eyes strayed to his left wrist, focused on his watch. Shouldn't be too hard to track the GPS signal. Right?

Who had taken him? And why? Hell, he'd been on base! He'd gone to the mess tent where the line cook had given him an orange creamsicle, and since he wasn't wearing shoes or pants, decided to return to his quarters and forgo the command center. He'd been walking past the rec center when he'd been struck from behind across the base of his neck. With his head already giving him fits from having been banged up just days ago, the blow had knocked him out and he'd just woken up….here.

"Shit." He croaked, throat so dry, he couldn't even speak correctly. He tugged on the ropes binding him to the chair, but there was no give. Yup, nope, he wouldn't be freeing himself.

If Bravo hadn't already landed, would the base send someone out after him? Or would they wait for Bravo? He was trying to ignore his thirst and think, when a ruckus erupted outside the room. He couldn't see anything, but it sounded very much like a fight.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to tip forward and shuffle his feet with the chair tied to his back but either he lacked the coordination to accomplish the feat or the chair was nailed to the floor because he couldn't move. He tried hopping the chair but met with no success. Rocking didn't get him anywhere either.

He was going nowhere. He couldn't even crash to the floor by falling over onto his side.

He heard shouting, arguing, shouts of anger, cries of pain, someone warned someone 'the man tied to the chair' understood their language. No one spoke English and with a sinking feeling that turned his gut to jelly, he knew whoever had crashed his kidnapping was neither Bravo nor anyone from the base.

Christ alive, how many people wanted him? The door clanged opened, a bright light was flashed in his eyes and someone shouted. "HERE!"

He was rushed, hands petted and patted. Someone drew a knife, in the dim light and to his muddled mind, it was large and sharp enough to separate his head from his shoulders. Before he could do more than tense and flinch in preparation of intimate death, the blade sliced the ropes , freed first his hands, then his feet and he was hauled of out the chair.

The combined light, noise, and pain from moving was too much. He didn't feel instant pain from circulation returning, that would take time, but his head was jarred and the constant – _bang, pop, thud, bam_ – was too much. The noise was all consuming, the air was thick and smoke-filled and he knew no more.

()()()

_Voices; Female. Speaking a foreign language._   
_Sounds; Birds. No music. No TV. A goat, something squawked._   
_Smells; Spices. Food. Barn yard._

"How is he?"

"Could be better."

"Will he be okay?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Him. Time. Events."

"So, he needs medical attention?"

"He does."

"Can you help him?"

"I can keep him alive."

"Meaning?"

***000***

Cap slipped into the bathroom of his private quarters. He shut the door, turned on the shower, the spigot in the sink, a radio. Why, he didn't know. Habit he supposed. It made him feel better, so he did it. He sat down at on the toilet, flipped open a burner phone, dialed.

"Do you have him?" He was sweating, wiped his palm on his pants, switched hands holding the phone, wiped the other palm. "No? What do you mean, no, you don't have him? Where the hell is he? What?" He soaked a washcloth, dabbed his forehead, back of his neck. "How can you not know? You were supposed to hold him until Jaber…..she what? Who took him?"

He got up to pace but could only turn in circles, sat back down.

"How could you lose him?" He pounded the sink with the heel of his fist. "You were supposed to just hold him! How could you fuck this up? What do you mean….you _think_ he was shot? How can you not know? Who shot him? What are you saying? He wasn't supposed to be hurt! Is he alive?" Cap swallowed. "Get out of the country. You hear me? No one can find you. I see you again, I'll put a bullet in your head." He flipped the phone closed, said a prayer.

God-damn fucking Spenser! His kidnapping couldn't even go as planned. It was supposed to look like he had been taken by a local insurgent group, Jaber would hear of it, come to his rescue and since Cap would know exactly where Spenser was being held, would storm in and finally see that bitch dead.

But no.

He pushed, annoyed to find his legs shaky. He splashed cold water on his face, patted his cheeks dry and wandered out to find a way to permanently dispose of the burner phone.

***000***

Clay floated, wandered, bobbed, drifted, held just under what served as lucidness, by pain, fear of the unknown, trauma. His eyes, when opened, couldn't focus and the image of two heads wearing hijabs, swam sickeningly until his stomach roiled and he smacked his lips in an attempt to keep from heaving.

He could be seeing double, but he didn't think so. The images would be the same, if that were the case, and one wore blue, the other gold and one was smooth faced, the other bore the lines and wrinkles of the aged.

"You're okay." Someone said in English. "Just relax, we're going to hurt you, but you're in no danger."

That was not at all comforting.

"You've been hurt," she continued. "But it's not life threatening."

Clay struggled to top the overwhelming darkness, it was an effort that he fought through with grit and determination. If he was going to die, so be it, but he wouldn't be responsible for letting his team walk into their own deaths because they were looking for him. Not while he still drew breath.

"Tea." His head was lifted, supported while a cup was pressed to his mouth. He parted his lips, allowed the liquid to touch his tongue. He didn't like the taste, it was bitter and room temperature, but it was wet and he drank greedily, even though it was mere sips, until the cup was removed and his head was returned to the mattress. "More in a bit."

He wanted more now but couldn't voice the demand or move his hand, so he fidgeted, head rolling until the cup was offered again. This time he was allowed more at a time and though some dribbled down his chin, it was wiped away with a cool cloth and damn, that felt good.

"Clay?" The voice had the impatient tone of one who had repeatedly called his name for a period of time and was frustrated not to have received a response. "Clay?"

They knew his name and he couldn't decide if that was good or bad. So far, he hadn't felt pain or any discomfort and he sensed no immediate threat. His face and neck and chest were bathed in cool water and he was offered tea and allowed to drink as much as he wanted even if it wasn't with the speed he wanted.

"That's it. Are you with me?"

His eyes finally opened, remained opened and focused. He was staring up into the face of Wasiqa Jaber and he might not know where he was or how he got there, but he damn well knew, she hadn't been the one to remove him from the base.

"You." He tested his hands, found them free, raised his left to push at his hair. It was damp, but that was from the heat. The ropes were gone from his wrists and ankles, but the marks they'd made, stung from salty sweat.

"You are well." She replied.

He didn't feel well. He felt awful and what was worse, as he remembered what had happened and where he most likely was, his stomach turned and the tea in his belly boiled as he became aware, his team was out there somewhere looking for him.

"My team?" He tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but the bed was soft, offered no support and his elbows sank and he was forced to give up with a curse. Why was he so weak?

"You are here alone." She offered him more tea, he shook her off.

"How long?" He rasped. Oh, pain was making itself known now. It was flaring up everywhere. God damn. Ow.

"We brought you here 12 hours ago."

His mind raced. He tried to add time and subtract hours and estimate how long and where his team might be, but he couldn't connect the dots. He thought Bravo should be on the ground by now, but he couldn't come up with a time line. Even so, troops from the base should be looking for him, but there was no guarantee Cap would have sent someone out and they didn't know about his GPS tracker. His phone was in his room, so all anyone would have to track him with, would be his watch.

Would they have called Bravo and told them Clay was missing?

Lost in his scattered thoughts, he wasn't paying attention to what either woman was doing. He knew one thing was going to happen: Though he was relatively sure he was safe with Wasiqa, when Bravo came through that door - and they would - he'd welcome the hug of whoever reached him first, 'cause collapsing in the arms of someone he knew and trusted who would hold him and offer comfort was the only think he could think of wanting to do.

"They're gonna come after me…." Clay panted, hissed as the old woman poured liquid over this belly. God's tits, that stung like a motherf'r! "They aren't like….AAUGGH!" He yelped, jerking. He was wide awake now! "Jesus woman! The hell's that shit?" His stomach muscles contracted, heaved, rippled as he fought to lie still. "No more!" He commanded breathlessly. The old woman paused, waited a mere two seconds, poured more. His closed fist pounded the mattress by his hip, bare heels digging into the straw beneath the sheet, but the cry of pain escaped anyway. "AAAAHH!"

"Come after you? Or me?" Wasiqa asked calmly, they spoke English, she enjoyed conversing in the language. She leaned over the shoulder of the woman torturing Clay in the guise of helping him. "Shush down, it's just an antiseptic."

"Made from what?" He muttered, slowly relaxing. His arched back released and he sank into the mattress, stretched his feet out. "Spit from Satan?"

"In some countries, they would call this ale, and drink it." Wasiqa smiled, asked again, "Are they coming for me?"

Clay panted through a late wave of pain, rubbed his hair. Ale? Whiskey then. He snorted, not even Sonny would drink that shit. "They won't hurt anyone, and they don't want you, they just want me back."

She stared him down, didn't blink. "I will allow it, should they come, but if they threaten me, the village or you…."

Clay winced. Jason would want to put him through a wall. Sonny would want to put him on the floor. Ray would be all cold and disciplined. Only the dog would be happy to see him. The coil in his gut had yet to ease. Once again, his team was in potential danger because they had to find and rescue his ass.

"They're uh, rough. Might yell, five men, a dog…" he paused, his team had had to come after him, they would have their support team with them. "Maybe a few more…." Aw, shit. "They're coming." He said quietly with conviction. Bravo had all kinds of way to track him. Experience had taught them to be over-cautious and to ridiculously over compensate just in case he went missing.

Wasiqa nodded. "You were grazed by a bullet. Lost enough blood to make you feel dizzy, woozy, but not enough to endanger you. Our fear, is infection. Get some sleep, you need strength. We have water, so when you wake, you can have a shower. I'm aware of America's addiction to daily cleansing."

()()()

"Eh, so you come." The woman said, turned her back on the men who had just removed her door. "Bah." She shuffled away as Bravo forced their way into her home. Cerberus, off leash, prowled around the small room.

"Where is he?"

She went to the stove, stirred a pot, tapped the wooden spoon on the edge, made to set it aside.

"Where is he….." Sonny began, ducked the spoon, took a step back with a curse. "Watch it, you old bat."

"So, he's here?" Ray asked. They could easily take the house, search the rooms, look for hidden doors or walls, but for some reason, the five of them all stood, waiting – for what he didn't know. The four men from support were outside, patrolling the grounds, searching the nearby woods, they would respond to a call for help within seconds.

"We know he is, Sherlock." Sonny said scornfully. "His GPS tracker says so. So does the mutt."

"Woof!"

They were like little boys, called in front of the class by the nun with the metal-edged ruler. Bigger, stronger than the woman, but unable to bring themselves to disobey her.

She picked up a different spoon, tasted whatever she was boiling, which did not smell at all appetizing, picked up a jar, added its contents to the pot.

"Look lady," Sonny began. "I haven't had a shower in two," he waggled two fingers, "whole days. Now. Where. Is. He?"

"There is no need to raise your voice." Another woman appeared out of nowhere. It was like she'd blended into the wall and just stepped forward. Brock glared at Cerberus who lowered his head with a dog shrug, sniffed the floor. He wasn't for harmless females. "He came to no harm at our hands."

"You can tell me where to find him," Jason paused. "Wasiqa Jaber," she didn't flinch, but he knew he'd guessed right. "Or we can tear this place apart until we do."

"There is no need for threats." She replied calmly. "Or violence. I do not keep him from you."

Jason waited, but when neither woman moved nor spoke, he told his team to spread out and search. "You and I, are going to have a chat." He told Wasiqa. "Convince me I should leave you alone."

So, this man was the leader, the boss, the man in charge. Very different indeed from the man who had ordered her village destroyed for no reason other than he could. She sensed a bond with these men that hadn't existed before between Clay and his prior team.

Jason stepped aside with Wasiqa, leaving Ray to be the sole recipient of glares and muttered voodoo from the old woman who undoubtedly cursed all future generations of Perry offspring in a language he didn't think even Clay would understand.

"Ma'am," Ray raised his hands, smiled. "We come in peace, mean you no harm."

"Harrumph." She sniffed, turned away.

()()()

Fresh out of what served as a shower over here – the cottage didn't have running water so his 'shower' had been swaying unsteadily under an elevated barrel that fed water heated by the sun through a hose with a homemade shower head with absolutely no pressure – Clay was as hot as he'd been before but at least he no longer smelled like sweat. His t-shirt and boxer briefs had been laundered and were hanging in the sun to dry, so it wouldn't be long before he could dress. The sun was high and hot, the cotton items would dry within 30 minutes.

A pair of men's silk-type pants had been left on the bed but despite drying off with a length of some type of cloth – man oh man, he missed linen, terrycloth, cotton – he still felt damp, because it hadn't absorbed water, so he decided to just sprawl on his back on the bed under the ceiling fan that moved a bit of air, though not much. No need to worry, no one would enter the room without first knocking and waiting for permission to enter to be granted. Maybe Wasiqa, but only if he failed to respond.

Finally feeling like his armpit hair had dried, still naked without so much as a sheet, he rolled over to let the air from the ceiling fan hit his back. He yawned, eyelids lazily fluttering until he just gave up and decided to doze off. He'd just extended his arms off either side of the bed, when:

_Crash, bang, boom! Thud, thud, thump! The walls shook, the floor heaved, the bed shuddered, the windows rattled. A dog barked._

Clay nuzzled his cheek against the rough sheets, the disturbance not yet fully penetrating his fuzzy, almost-asleep-muddled mind.

_Heavy boots, clink, clank, clang, shuffling feet, wood scraping on tile, furniture being_ _moved, voices, threats, demands._

Clay stirred, these noises were familiar to him. SEALS sure did make a lot of noise when fully kitted and bearing weapons capable of leveling the entire hillside, in such a small area. Before he could lift his head from the mattress, a blanket was tossed over him, tucking and rubbing and all he could think was, he was already hot, he didn't want or need a blanket. He'd need another shower and water wasn't plentiful over here. So, he fought to free himself from the unwelcome warmth.

He was picked up, held, hugged. The blanket was snug around his shoulders and his head was cupped by two huge hands and his face was against a neck, held there by a hunched shoulder as a Texan accented voice, made husky by emotion and anger, bellowed:

"TRENT!" Sonny wasn't used to Clay struggling to get away from him. Whenever the kid was hurt or sick or medicated or in some other way incapacitated, he was clingy and well, cuddly. "TRENT!"

"Right here. Put him down. Clay?" Trent tangled a hand in damp, blonde curls. "Hey, you with me?" Clay was on his belly, Trent eyed his bruised back, ran his hands from shoulders to calves, fingers searching for lumps and bumps, ghosted over the rope burns, dismissed them as minor.

Sonny hovered and Trent elbowed him back.

"…..all you guys?…." Clay murmured. "When'd you get 'ere?"

"Must be the blow to the head, getting kidnapped and lost fucked you up, 'cause you seem to have forgotten just who Jason Hayes is." Trent tutted-tutted. "Yeah, Clay, we're all here."

"Oh." He yawned. "...'K."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm telling you people, I just don't know where the time is going...yesterday was Christmas...today...is half way through January! Slow down time! Slow. Down.

Feeling defenseless face down on his belly, Clay attempted to roll over but hands prevented him from succeeding. Hands that petted and patted his shoulders and back, were neither rough nor hesitant. Being felt up didn't feel uncomfortable, fingers didn't linger or squeeze or caress, they searched, pressed a bit too hard in a place or two then moved on. His display of protest – a slight movement of one knee, a curled fist, a grunt – was promptly stifled by a smart slap to his bare hip.

"Nuff." He grunted into the bed sheets.

"Shush." He was admonished.

His skin stinging from the rebuke and the brief time he'd spent upright, had him feeling flushed and dizzy. Convinced he shouldn't attempt to sit up again, he just turned his head to the right so he could breathe easier. One attempt at opening his eyes convinced him allowing them to remained closed was a very good idea indeed.

"What are those bruises from?" Sonny was asking, the accent familiar, Clay stirred in response.

"I don't know."

"Are they serious?"

"I don't know." Trent never liked to see bruises, but Clay hadn't flinched or drawn away from his touch, so he didn't think they were anything to worry about.

"Where are his clothes?"

"I. Don't. Know."

"But he's naked. Why is he naked? I don't like him being naked."

"I dunno Sonny."

"Where're his clothes?"

"Yeah, 'cause that's what's important right now." Trent nudged Clay in his right side, expected him to roll over, not let out a yelp that startled everyone, brought the men patrolling outside, inside at a run.

"DAMMIT Trent! What the HELL you doing?" Jolted by the unexpected reaction from Clay, Sonny didn't know whether he should knock Trent away from Clay or pick the kid up and keep him away from the man he just labeled 'mad medic'. "JESUS!" 'cause it sounded like Trent had just gone and stabbed him.

()

Jason stood patiently – or what served as patience for him – while Wasiqa explained her version, and likely the only one he was going to get, of events. She had heard the man responsible for destroying her village was on the base and looking for her. No, she hadn't had any intentions of meeting him or even going near the base until she'd learned Clay had been called in to be at the meeting. The temptation of seeing him – she didn't share the reason why – had been great enough, she'd entered the town closest to the base…and here they were.

He started to ask questions, wanting to know how she'd gotten Clay off the base, when a cry of pain made him abandon her and bolt to the bedroom.

The old woman muttered, shook her head in disbelief over the rushed antics of what she had been told was America's elite fighting force, returned her attention to the stove as five more armed men and a dog tromped through the door, all asking questions and demanding answers.

She ignored them, but wrinkled her nose in distaste of over the entry of a four-legged, flea-ridden furball into her home.

Ray stayed in the kitchen, but his attention was on the door everyone was crowded in. His job, per Jason, was to keep an eye on the old woman cooking on the stove and he would remain where she stayed in his sight, but that didn't mean he didn't want to push through every man in the door and lay his own eyes on Clay.

Sonny was yelling at Trent but the medic wasn't issuing orders and demands, so Ray convinced himself all was well. He stepped closer to the stove, was warned away with the spoon. He put his hands up, gave her a smile. Didn't look like the pot contained bomb-making materials, whatever they might be. He shook his head over the idiotic thought…what did he expect to see? Grenades, blocks of C4 simmering in bubbly acid? The contents were slime green, something yellowish, so probably a stew. Still though, in this heat, he thought, why cook? Raw vegetables would be a better snack.

He spied another pot set aside, moved closer, peered in….mud? Mud. Hot mud. The bowl radiated heat. Good grief, thank the good Lord he wouldn't be staying around long enough to be offered that! How were you supposed to eat it? Knife and fork? Spoon? Did it become a hard cake-like substance when it cooled?

He shuddered, retreated to the doorway where he could watch the door to the room Clay was in, the back door that led outside and the woman puttering about at the stove

()

Sonny seethed. His experienced eyes had seen the bandages, rags, sponges, canisters, a brown bottle, bowls and pails with pink water and unease and discontent had controlled his response, which had been to grab Clay who had been sprawled face-down on the bed, because bruises didn't require bandages or turn water pink. The dark bruises and no movement despite all the noise and commotion, had convinced him the kid was dead and not merely asleep. He'd rushed the bed and scooped the kid up, only able to breathe again when Clay struggled against his hold.

Trent showed no signs of alarm or panic, most likely because though his words were slurred, Clay was talking, knew they were there. That had lured Sonny into another false sense of 'everything was ok' and now, that everything wasn't, he was pissed and panicked – again.

"Okay, easy, sorry." Trent murmured, motioned to Sonny to ignore Clay's squirming and sounds of pain and flip him over, which Sonny easily did. "Weeeell, well, what have we here?" Clay on his back and held there by Sonny, Trent gave the injury on the kid's right hip blade his full attention. "Damn Clay, don't ever do anything the easy way, do you?"

"What? What is it? What did that? That serious? He need stitches? Staples? Bad place, huh? Right where the waist of his pants sit. That sucks. Gonna bother him, you think? Shouldn't that have a bandage? He's not bleeding. Gonna though, right? Oh, there it is. He sure does like to bleed. That bother you? You never say much."

"Sonny?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut. Up." Trent touched and tapped and pinched the deep trough on Clay's right side that went from the bottom of his abs and around his side. The bullet had skimmed off skin before lodging in flesh just above his hip bone then exiting. As far as gun shots went, it wasn't serious. The wound had been thoroughly cleaned, tended and the bleeding had stopped, though the recent rough handling had caused it to start again. The one thing Trent didn't like was the surrounding skin was red, puffy and warm to touch.

Then again, all of Clay was warm to touch, his face flushed and sweaty. Hard to tell if he were running a fever, it was so hot in the room.

"Bullet not in him, right?" Jason asked.

"Clean through." Trent, well aware how fast Clay could dehydrate, throw a reaction, develop an infection, run a fever, mentally reviewed the medications he'd brought with him. Stupid, he knew, but he hadn't expected to find Clay with a gunshot wound, so hadn't brought the med kit that he was in the process of building/making with Doc that would soon be referred to by everyone as the 'kit for Clay'. He'd left it on the truck, not a mistake he intended to ever let happen again. When Clay was next injured in the field, Trent would have a medical kit capable of allowing him to, if needed, do minor surgery in the dirt.

He hadn't brought IV's or blood or oxygen or strong pain meds and had a limited supply of mild antibiotics. The pain medication he did have, had, the last time he'd given it to Clay, made the kid sleep for over eight hours without stirring. Yeah, that hadn't made Trent happy. Doc had been more than happy to sit with Trent and discuss the why's and what's and they'd decided the reaction Clay had to it, had made the medication act more like a sedative, than pain relief.

So, shit.

Crouched down to fondle Cerb's ears, Brock tugged on his damp curls, they'd passed a creek and he was anxious to go lay down in it. Trent was annoyed, that was obvious, he just hadn't yet put his finger on why - and it wasn't Sonny. He watched Trent go through his med bag, pick through the supplies on the table, curse, go back to his bag. Aah, so that was it.

"Zipstitch?" Jason asked.

"In the truck." He tossed Sonny a clean white rag who folded it and used to staunch the flow of blood.

"Don't beat yourself up." Brock stood up. "There were 9 of us on that truck, any one of us could have told you to bring it, or carried it ourselves. Leaving the kit behind isn't just on you."

"Doesn't help now." Trent reached for the brown bottle, took a whiff, coughed when his eyes watered. "Damn."

"It is all we had to disinfect the wound. We heated water to clean it, but had no medicine." Wasiq explained from the doorway. "He slept for a while, then wanted to wash. Hasti could not stitch it." She slid a glance at Jason who stood by her side. "We did not do this to him." She called out something in her language.

Trent nodded. Hasti must be the older woman cooking some vile concoction on the stove. Hopefully her plan wasn't to give it to Clay because he'd put a stop to it. He withdrew a syringe from a pocket, nudged Clay towards his left hip, pulled the top off with his teeth, swabbed a bit of skin with an antiseptic wipe, stabbed the needle, pushed the plunger, tossed it aside, checked the bleeding.

Sonny had watched Trent work hundreds of times in all kinds of situations, in any environment, under extreme conditions and it still amazed him how fast he was. He hadn't even seen the medic find the packet of wipes, let alone rip it open and remove it. His eyes strayed to the discarded wrapper, wondered where the syringe had landed and Clay, disturbed by the puncture to his hip, was sliding up the bed in an attempt to distance himself from Trent.

"Hey, where you going? Come back here." Sonny blinked, reached out. "Not done with you yet."

"Trent?" Jason prompted. He needed to know what their immediate plans were. They hadn't expected to find Clay injured, though they should have.

Hasti popped up behind Jason in the door way, balancing two bowls in her hands. She nudged and poked but didn't budge the much larger man in her way until he stepped aside on his own and allowed her entrance.

"He's not hungry." Sonny snapped irritably.

"Not to eat. I had bleeding stop, 'til you came." She let Jason relieve her of the heaviest bowl, motioned for him to sit it on the table near the bed. "Stop bleeding," she paused, sniffed in disapproval, "again, draw out poison."

She sat right down on the bed opposite Sonny with the small bowl of...mold, moss, mildew…something green. She held the bowl, scooped out a generous blob, knocked Sonny's hand aside, tossed the bloody cloth, packed the green mixture over the bleeding, shooed Sonny's hands away. "Leave be." She scolded, whapping at his arm with a towel.

"The fuck?" Sonny growled, moved to wipe the blob off, but Trent told him to leave it. "Ow! That stings, you...you."

"Translation?" Jason asked Trent who lifted the towel and inspected the contents of the other bowl. When nothing slithered out or exploded, he allowed Hosti to take his wrists, turn his palms up, lay the towel across them, spoon out sloppy yellowish colored mud.

"What is she doing?"

"Is that what she was boiling on the stove?"

"It's a poultice." Trent explained. "A compress of herbs to draw out infection."

"Herbs? You mean, weeds and such? Roots?"

"Yes, Sonny." Trent refrained from rolling his eyes because the Texan was able to move freely and could easily cuff his ear. "Weeds and roots."

"You gonna let her do…..?" Sonny paused as Trent helped her tie the towel, now full of wet, yellowish mud into a knot. "Oh, you are."

"Even if it doesn't help, not gonna hurt him."

"It's…uh…yellow. Is that mud? That's mud, Trent."

"Might be yarrow."

"Goldenrod." Hasti corrected. "This yarrow." She mushed and mixed the green blob, patted none-too-gently. The towel in Trent's hands was wet, the mixture of…whatever, quickly soaked through. She deftly plucked the soppy, soggy ball of material from Trent's lax hands and without care, slapped it on top of the green mush over the wound on Clay's lower hip.

"YOW!" Clay yelped, jerked away, bumped into Sonny, found the flap of a loose pocket, held tight. "AAH-OW!"

"That grows naturally over here?" Jason asked, Trent shrugged, pulled his phone from a pocket, opened notes, made an entry to research natural remedies consisting of herbs and plants and discuss it with Doc, returned the phone to its pocket.

Hasti ignored everyone, packed and patted the mushy slop against Clay's skin, pinched him when he nearly dislodged it - elicited a whimper from him, a growl from Sonny, a scowl from Jason, a huff from Trent.

"He doesn't like it." Sonny said after a moment. Clay squirmed, tensed, pulled his knees up, straightened them out, clenched and unclenched his fist, tugged on the pocket, rolled and flopped his head repeatedly on the pillow.

"He doesn't like the heat." Trent shushed Clay who stirred with another whine. "Spenser, stop." He held Clay's chin, forced his head still. "You're fine, now stop whining."

Jason watched Hasti. She used fresh water from a clean bowl and a clean cloth to bathe Clay's face and neck. Cap's words came back to him, did he trust Clay when he spoke to people in this language? Trent certainly wasn't upset or concerned with what she was doing, and he found in that moment, when put on the spot, when the life of one of his men was possibly in the hands of these women, yeah he did and while he didn't trust either of these women, he trusted Clay and the kid trusted Jaber enough to remain in her care. That was good enough for him.

"Trent?" Jason said again.

Ignoring the dragging pain in his side, Clay focused on why his eyes felt like he was swimming underwater with them open and no goggles. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe. Funny, he hadn't felt like this when he'd taken his 'shower', so why did he now feel like he was being tossed about on huge waves, gripping the sides of a small, rubber, zodiac boat?

Okay, yeah, he'd been shaky and wobbly, standing under the trickle of water, but nothing like this. He flopped, turned, twisted, flipped, lowered a hand to his side when the need to breathe deep caused pain. Somehow on his back, he brought his knees up, planted his heels, tried to sit up. The pull on his side had him gasping and his arms instinctively cradled his belly. He moaned, now his ass hurt because someone had gone and stabbed him.

"Hey,"

He rolled his head towards the voice but didn't open his eyes. His knees were smacked, his legs straightened out by a tug on each ankle. He had neither the strength nor the coordination to stop it. His hand was caught, his wrist held when he tried to tug free.

"Water?" Clay licked his lips, eyes roaming under closed lids. Good God, he was hot. "No…more…tea."

Sonny looked at Trent who nodded, so he pulled a flap on a pocket on his pants, withdrew a bottle. Clay heard the familiar sound of Velcro being separated, perked up. "Water?" His attempt to sit up was aborted when his hip and ab muscles combined in sudden mutiny and he went limp with a whine.

"Sore, eh?" Sonny waited for him to regroup and come up on an elbow, removed the cap, let him have the water. "Gun shots to the belly tend to do that."

"Do what?" His teeth gripped the bottle, but no tab popped up. He frowned, finally opened his eyes, peered down in confusion. "Water?"

"Yeah, dumbass, tip your head back." Sonny grinned. "No, not that way, that's forward, the other way…back, your head…no, not like that…you dummy….Trent!"

"He's confused Sonny." Trent explained calmly. "Dehydration, infection, loss of blood, pain."

"He'd say disoriented, but that's a big word for you." Brock teased. "Help him get a drink, you big meanie." He rose to his feet. "We good here? Saw a stream nearby, want to let Cerb take a swim, cool off a bit."

Trent nodded, Jason waved him on, Sonny flipped him off. He grinned and departed with the guys from support.

()

"What did you do to him?" Ray asked Wasiqa when she returned to the kitchen. Despite his desire to speed to the room with everyone else, his orders to remain in the kitchen kept him there. Didn't matter with Hasti out of the room, there was no one to watch, still, he remained.

"I did nothing." She replied calmly. "We have only offered him comfort and care."

"What is he doing here?"

"Ray?" Kenny lingered while the other three went back outside with Brock, walking and watching. "No signs of electronics, electricity, radio, not even a CB, no cell signals either."

"How do you communicate?" Ray asked her, annoyed when she simply shrugged. "You must have a way."

"We travel to the nearest village."

"You're on the side of a mountain, there's one path up, same one down."

"We walk." She replied. "It was a safe place to bring him."

"Safe place? He's hurt, you should have taken him back to the base."

"He was shot." Kenny said off-handily, busy with some device or another in his hands. "No sign of tire tracks, horses neither." Now he looked up, but it was at Wasiqa, not Ray. "He sure as hell didn't walk here. But I need to talk to you about….."

Ray paled. Wasiqa frowned at him. Kenny frowned at her. Had she never seen a black man lose color in his face before? Ashen, it was called.

Ray licked a lip, plopped into the chair she pulled out from the table. "Gut shot?" He asked thickly, sweat beading on his forehead. Was that why Trent wasn't in a panic? There was no urgency? Clay was too far gone for help? He swore the cry of pain that had sent everyone running had come from Clay, but maybe it had been a cry of grief from Sonny. He jumped to his feet, he needed to be in that room _right now_, see Clay, before it was too late…..

"What? No." Distracted, Kenny scowled irritably, dismissed Ray, but after a second look, noticed the color of his complexion and it dawned on him what Ray likely thought. "NO! God Ray, No! Sorry. I'm sorry dude." He put a hand on Ray's shoulder blade, squeezed comfortingly. "Just a graze, Trent says. Bled a lot, and you know how he can bleed."

Ray lashed out with a closed fist, nailed Kenny hard in the belly button, causing him to double over as the air whooshed out his open mouth. The tracker clattered to the floor.

"What'd…." Kenny groaned with a gasp. "You…do…that…for?"

"Scaring me."

Kenny held a hand up. Elbows on his knees, he waited for his breath to find him. "Trent says…not life…threatening. Loss of blood and infection to…worry about." He retrieved his tracker, gave it shake. "Christ Perry….pull that punch next time, will ya? Whew!"

"You….where are you going?" Ray forgot Kenny, followed Wasiqa out the back door who had walked away from their antics, but all she did was retrieve Clay's clothes off the line and hand them to him.

"What's this?" Stupidly, Ray stared at the two pieces of cotton. "This…..what, you kidnapped the kid off an American military base in his underwear?"

"I kidnapped no one."

Ray frowned, drawing the wrong conclusion. "He left on his own to meet you?"

"Hey, Ray?" Seth popped his head through the open door. "Got a minute?"

"He did," she began but Ray put a palm up, silenced her and walked away to join Seth. "no such thing!" she called after him but didn't know whether or not she heard him. He didn't stop or turn to ask further questions and she decided she didn't quite like him. "Men."

"Ray." Chris joined him and Seth as they stepped outside, pointed to the sky. "Got a problem."

"A cloud?"

"Doplar radar, I'm not, but Davis said a storm is moving in."

"Here? In Afghanistan? Now?" Ray sighed, rubbed his forehead. "Of all times, now?" He paced, kicked at a clump of dirt. "I don't get it. It's weather. You can drive in rain."

"I can and I would, but the truck doesn't have wipers." Chris stated. "I say it isn't worth the risk trying to drive without 'em."

Ray spun around, stomped in the other direction, kicked a rock, chased after it, kicked it again. Chris had been Bravo's driver for years, both on land and on water. He could drive anything, anywhere and if he was saying he knew the truck didn't have wipers, then Ray could bet his life, the truck didn't have wipers. Both Chris and Seth would have gone over the truck before driving it off the base. If they said they couldn't drive the truck without wipers, they damn well needed to beat the storm.

"Jay?" Ray charged into the room. "We good to go?"

"Now?" It was Trent who answered. "Rather not. Wanna let him sleep a bit before we go, let the medication kick in. You know how cranky he gets when he's tired." He shrugged. "Gonna be a rough hike down for him."

"No choice. We got a storm to beat."

"Course its gotta go and rain now." Sonny muttered. "Rains what, once a year over?"

"Then why even ask?" Trent scowled crossly.

"Two-hour hike downhill." Sonny spoke up. "Least we don't have to carry his heavy ass uphill this time." He tried to free his pants leg, failed. "Hate hiking in the rain."

"Not the problem, truck doesn't have wipers."

Sonny scowled. "So, what're we talking about?"

"Less you wanna lay on top of the cab, use your arms as wipers, we got no other choice than to beat the storm, Davis puts it six hours out." Ray retorted. "We're not getting air."

"Nigh, can 'alk." Clay scowled, tried to sit up. "Ow...nuh!"

"He can walk." Trent echoed with a snort. "Sure Clay, you do that."

"He can't even sit up." Sonny looked around. "Anyone see his boots?"

"He doesn't need them, he's not walking." Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "Trent, what you got for a headache?"

"For you?" Trent tossed him a bottle of Excedrin migraine, he caught it one-handed. "Only three Jay."

Jason made a face, popped the tab, shook out three, swallowed them with water.

"His clothes." Ray tossed them to the bed. "Jay, we…" He went silent when Jason held a hand up.

"Where're the rest of 'em?" Sonny demanded. "Clay, where the hell are your pants?"

"Not…bring…pants…." He used his palm to shove his damp bangs off his forehead, licked his lips. "I'm hot…hot-hot…why's it hot?"

"Hot-hot is different than just hot, how?" Sonny wondered to no one in particular.

Trent sighed, nope, hadn't brought a thermometer either. Hands full with a cranky, combative, uncooperative Clay who didn't want to lie still, drink tea or leave the compress - a mixture of steaming…uh, mud, paste….no, it was mud, oh please let it be mud - on his hip that Hasti constantly reapplied, he wasn't much in the mood to deal with any other issues or answer any more questions.

"Arms up Spense." He bunched the t-shirt. "Let's get you dressed."

Sonny leaned over, sniffed the bowl, got his face swatted with a pair of black, cotton briefs. He glared, she glowered, Trent looked upwards, prayed for patience.

"Woman!" Sonny growled, but he was all show and no action. "How long this stuff stay hot anyway?"

"Bowl holds heat." She tutt-tutted, grabbed an ankle. "He sure do squirm." She cackled at Trent who stared back, baffled. "Little boys, they do love to run around naked, don't they?"

"Other arm…Clay, let go… I need your other hand…don't you slap at me."

Clay went still at Hasti's words. Forgot everything else. Naked? He was naked? He had no clothes on?

Sonny agreed with the need to see Clay dressed in what clothes he had, but he rather thought the soggy, boggy mess of mud in a soaking wet towel would soon soak the cotton material.

"Don't matter." Trent read his mind, answered his unspoken thought. "It's so hot, he'll dry in minutes."

Clay let of Sonny's pants, reached for his boxer briefs for control of their ascent, cat-slapped with Hasti, lost. "I'm…dry."

"You're gonna bandage him, right?" Sonny asked, watching Clay's struggle with Hasti with a grin that faded when he began to pant. "Hey now, let off, you're good...what the...what are you doing?"

Trent glanced up. Clay tended to cling when he was hurt or didn't feel well and medicated. He, Jason and Brock were fine with it, Clay rarely turned to Ray, and though Sonny put on a great show of appearing uncomfortable and put-out, he was full of shit because though he huffed and puffed and cracked jokes, he was the first to allow Clay close and never pushed him away.

"I'll do him up before we head out."

"Cause that shit stinks. I don't wanna smell that all the way down."

Clay now dressed and crawling into a bewildered Sonny's lap, Trent began to repack his bag. "Hold that." He ordered Sonny who wrinkled his nose, made a face but obeyed. Trent looked at Hasti. He didn't care what Ray said or what the weather was going to do. He wasn't going to make Clay move until the medication kicked in.

"Thank you." He told her sincerely. Whether or not the slime did any good, she had cleaned and treated Clay's wound and while it wasn't up to Trent's standards, it was as good as he would have done out in the field with what was available.

()

"A moment?" Wasiqa asked Jason, inclined her head towards the door. He hesitated, despite Sonny's ridiculous display of annoyance, he wouldn't dump Clay off his lap or leave the kid, so he nodded, stepped from the room, allowing her to lead the way back to the kitchen. Ray went outside to round up the others. "I ask that you allow us to leave now that we have returned your man to you."

Jason was quiet, pushed a hand through his hair. He was hot, tired, sweaty and they faced a two-hour hike down the mountain to the truck where ice and cold drinks waited and would make the three-hour drive back to actual roads, and eventually the base, bearable.

They'd left the base and gone to the location of the alleged meet, an action everyone had thought a waste of time, yet had to be done anyway, found nothing and set out after the GPS signal, with a prayer it was still Clay wearing the watch.

He had a strong suspicion, the surrounding woods hid more than natural wildlife and if he were to attempt to take either woman into custody, he'd have one hell of a fight on his hands. She wasn't smiling at him nor was she glaring, she simply stood with her hands clasped in front of her, head slightly bowed.

He wasn't fooled by what appeared to be a submissive stance. "Returned him?"

"I allowed you to find him."

"Allowed?" Jason snorted. "We can track him anywhere."

"Really now, had I not wanted to be found…"

"I want to know why you took him."

"Because I did not know who held him."

"What? Held him? He was on base."

"He was not." It was her turn to hesitate, ponder what and how much to reveal. "When I heard he was here…I had the base watched for activity….by the time word got to me…" She stopped. "It was made to look like he was taken by, well, let's say, a group we feud with, but it wasn't like that. He was delivered to them…I took him back."

"Delivered?"

Meaning, Clay hadn't left the base under his own power and had been shot when she had stormed wherever he was being held. Cap had been behind whoever had taken Clay off the base in an attempt to set a trap for her. What would have happened had she not come after him? Had Cap intended for Clay to disappear? Become a casualty? Would they ever know?

They would. Blackburn would see to it.

"Far as I'm concerned, I never laid eyes on you." He said finally. "We got what we came for, get gone and we don't have a problem."

It was her turn to be quiet, stare at Jason. "He trusts you." She said quietly. "For what he did for my village, because he stood up for people he didn't know and had no reason to trust or help, I will tell you this…you would be wise not to take direction, advice or orders from anyone on that base that did not land with you on your C17…" his eyes widened when she told him the time they landed, "…they do not have your safety or best interests at heart." She nodded when he acknowledged he understood her message. "He will always be safe with me."

And there…she'd just confirmed his suspicions. He knew what she was saying. She would disappear and no one would hear from her again unless Clay returned. She knew Cap's plans, expected him to try again and those plans wouldn't prevent her from coming after Clay. Except, that would never happen. Cap wasn't going to see daylight without bars obstructing his view ever again

He didn't have orders to apprehend her or take her in. Correction, Blackburn hadn't given him those orders. She and Hasti would leave this place and Jason had no intentions of ever attempting to track her down.

"Are these mountains friendly?" Jason asked.

"They are alive, and not with the sound of music."

Which meant, when she left, whoever was in the woods protecting the house, would leave with her and Bravo would be considered fair game. Someone was nearby or could arrive within minutes because Clay hadn't walked up here on his own and these women hadn't carried him. Brock and Cerberus could find the 'eyes in the woods' but it wasn't worth the time or effort.

"You have a way of communicating to, uh, nature?"

"You will not be disturbed by those loyal to me." She spread her hands. "You were allowed to come here without confrontation, but I cannot guarantee you safe passage once you return to your vehicle."

"Fair enough."

"Jason." Ray was back, didn't agree with the deal Jason was making.

"You found him in a ditch." The barest hint of a smile played on her lips.

"Covered in yellow mud." Jason agreed.

Now she smiled, seeming to have accepted Jason. "I'm glad he has you. You came east, yes?"

"Yeah."

She nodded. "There is a path that winds down the cliff…."

"Not on the map." Ray, pacing in tight circles, stopped to interrupt. Unlike Jason, he didn't blindly trust either of these women simply because Clay did. Things didn't add up, and he had questions he wanted answered. How had she tempted Clay off the base? When? Why? How had she known he was there? How had he gotten shot? How did she know when they flew in, what time they landed?

But Jason wasn't asking.

"Not your map." She agreed. "You follow it, you will cut your descent time to under an hour.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, ya'll! Had a bit of an upheaval in life for a time, but all extended family members have returned home and I have resumed my usual, normal activities.
> 
> Have I ever pointed out - medical inconsistencies? I have? Carry on, then.

You're just going to let her go?" Ray asked incredulously. "Jay, man, come on!"

"We only have Cap's version of what happened seven years ago."

"She's responsible for the death of American soldiers!"

"There's no proof."

"There's Spenser."

"You're not putting that on him."

"Maybe she didn't plant the bomb, but she ordered it detonated and she ordered the shots fired when they rescued Watkins. Jason, think this through!"

Wasiqa was quiet, stood patiently. Her escape was well planned, and she had no doubt both she and Hasti would easily get away, but she was curious to see which action this man Clay trusted so much would take. She hadn't missed the way Clay responded to the team's medic or his boss, and she'd observed the way he'd sought comfort from the man with the odd accent, who complained but didn't push him away.

He knew these men and he both trusted and felt safe with them.

"Blackburn didn't order her capture." Jason shut down any further argument from Ray. "Get Brock, find the path she told us about." He keyed his comm's, called Karl to bring the collapsible litter in.

Ray didn't move, trying to decide if it was worth the effort to argue further - didn't matter because Jason left him. He shook his head, moved towards the door. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to protect his teammate, find him when he was missing, but…walking off base when he knew his team was on their way to get him? Yeah, Ray has having a hard time moving past that.

"Jace?" Trent was behind him. "I'd rather not make him travel yet."

"Will it hurt him, we do?" Jason was wondering if maybe he should have pushed Wasiqa for more information; like how she'd been able to rescue Clay from whoever had removed him from a friggin' American occupied military base without being caught. How she'd even known. Apparently, 'keeping watch' meant many things.

"He's not ready." _I'm not ready! _"Just….dunno how he got shot." Trent pushed a hand through his hair. "It's risky in his condition. Loss of blood, possible infection, dehydration….he's been hours without medical treatment."

Hasti let loose in her native language, waggling a spoon in the air as she charged out of the bedroom. Wasiqa smoothly stepped in front of her.

"Proper medical care." Trent corrected, ducked a wide arc of waving spoon. "Have a care woman!"

Wasiqa spoke quietly and Hasti disappeared out the back door in a flourish of skirts, still muttering and waving her spoon behind her.

"Will it hurt him?" Jason repeated.

Trent blew his breath out, wanted to argue. "No."

Jason rolled his neck. "But?"

"He hurts." Prying him away from Sonny was going to make him whine because the kid finally felt safe and didn't want to move. "Gimme 30 minutes? Let the medication kick in? It'll knock him out."

"You have 20." Jason bartered. "We roll…."

"Bravo One, status?" Davis crackled in his ear. "Update, the storm…"

Jason waved Trent off, nodded to Wasiqa, stepped outside to talk to HAVOC. Next time he looked back, she was gone.

"How's he doing?" Sonny asked quietly when Trent returned, dabbed and wiped, cleaned and painted, rubbed and bandaged, taped, ignored Clay's squirming and muttering. "He's uh, hot."

"Yeah." Trent palmed Clay's sweaty forehead. "Antibiotic will bring his fever down. Not dangerously high."

"Thought that shot was a pain med."

"Uh-huh."

"Not normal for an infection to set in so fast, is it?"

"With him? Yeah. The way he leaks blood, yeah."

Karl breezed in. His loud stomping and jangling made Clay stir. He managed to force his eyes half-open, blink repeatedly and squint blearily at shapes and colors.

"N….ow…..ow…nuh." Clay hissed, sucking his breath in. "…ow…ow…"

"What's the matter now?" Trent asked absently, helping Karl untie and open the litter.

"Head," pause, gasp, pant, "hurts."

"Now? It hurts now? Not when we got here, but now?" Sonny teased, juggling Clay off his lap and into his arms, got ready to rise with most of his weight.

"Hot."

"Hey…." Trent held his chin. "Stop fighting the meds, just let go."

"Hmmm?"

"I gave you a shot…go with it. We're getting ready to head out."

"Oh." He licked his lips. He really didn't feel like walking and there was something about his boots he should remember and didn't, but right….he went where his team did. "Kay…" He held his hand out, expected help sitting up, but his hand was held, squeezed and returned to his side. "Huh?"

"We got you." Karl said easily. "Don't worry about Sonny's scrawny ass dropping you, me and Karl got you."

"Oh." Clay blinked, forced his eyes wide, lost the battle to keep them open, turned his head, let his cheek fall into the crook of Sonny's arm, muffled; "K, then."

"You suck." Sonny retorted. "Meet me in the ring, see how scrawny my ass is." He jounced Clay until he roused again. "And you, I ain't never dropped your ass yet and you've given me plenty of reason to."

Trent and Karl attempted to move Clay off Sonny's lap, but he stirred in protest, head coming off Sonny's shoulder and Trent motioned for Karl to step back. They waited five minutes, tried again. This time, though Clay tensed, tightened his grip, he didn't open his eyes or try to sit up or pull away and Sonny gently broke his hold and offered him to Karl.

By the time he and Trent had Clay covered with a light blanket and secured on the litter, Clay was o-u-t, out. Karl tweaked his nose with a grin.

"Jesus Trent, when you put him out, you put him out."

Trent sighed, shrugged, finally grinned. "Yeah, he finally stops fighting it. Don't have a lot of meds with me, anyone else, it wouldn't have made them, you know, comatose."

"Good thing then," Karl pinched Clay's toes, no response. "We won't have to wake him up."

Trent's grin faded. Oh, when someone went and said something like that, the universe took it as a dare.

"Let's go." Karl breezed in. "Front for me?" He asked Karl who nodded, so he turned around, backed up to the litter, grabbed the handles. "New path down, cut the time in half."

()

Randy sipped lukewarm coffee-flavored-water from a mug. This was the worst tasting, sorriest excuse for coffee he'd ever tasted but holding the mug kept his hands occupied while he sat and waited to hear from Bravo. Leave it to Clay Spenser to get lost in a mountain range where satellite coverage was limited to certain times of the day and no cell phone signals transmitted.

Only Spenser. And what the hell was he doing clear out there, anyway? How'd he get there? Where was there? He sure as hell hadn't gone on foot.

"How's the coffee?" Eric asked, grinned at the face Randy made. "That bad?"

"Could use a fresh pot." He tilted his head. "Any update from Davis?"

She had texted Eric on a burner phone reporting what looked like several armed vehicles blocking the only road down the mountain Bravo had to descend. Yes, they'd be in the truck, but would be driving straight into an ambush.

"Waiting on Bravo One." Eric's set mouth confirmed he didn't like his options. "There's only one road down, no other route to take."

"Cap?" Randy questioned. "You think he has the pull over here, an in with the local fighting groups? Would send them after Bravo? Make it look like they'd laid an ambush?"

"I don't put anything past him."

"Dutch?"

Eric hesitated. Dutch and his men had searched for Spenser on, around and close to the base. They'd stayed behind when Bravo had set out to follow Clay's GPS signal, working on finding a connection between Clay's disappearance and Cap.

"Send them." Eric decided. "Anyone in wait to ambush Bravo, will be trapped between."

"Roger that." Randy set the mug down. "Got anything yet?"

"Not enough, but I will."

Eric pivoted to stare out the window: would Dutch and his men get there in time? Could Bravo hold out that long? He reached for his phone, stepped out of the room. He had faith in his men. They would find a way out of the ambush and return to base and by the time they got back, he intended to have Cap in cuffs.

()

The path, though steep, didn't require the agility of a mountain goat, was easily traversed by the men of Bravo and they were at the truck within an hour, the time passing quickly despite Sonny's constant complaints about foul smelling mud and medieval medicine.

Kenny and Karl had carried a sleeping Clay the entire way, joking that even dumping him on his head wouldn't wake him up. They'd tried to keep the litter as even and steady as possible, but it wouldn't have mattered if they hadn't. No amount of juggling, jostling and jouncing had disturbed Clay's slumber in any way.

They'd loaded up, and well ahead of the storm, had reported to HAVOC they were motorized and mobile only to have Davis report an hour or so later, to pull over and hold up while 'activity' further down the road was investigated.

"Any ideas?" Ray asked. They'd disembarked, paced, scouted the area, sought relief from the heat in the shade. They were forced to rely on Davis for information about their current predicament. If armed men waited to catch them in an ambush, they were either well hidden or in a blind spot on the road from Bravo's current location, because even with binoculars and powerful scopes, they wouldn't spot anyone.

"One way down," Seth said, standing outside the truck. Chris was pacing, muttering, making designs in the air with a finger. "Can send an advance, try and shoot it out, hang someone back to stay with Spenser."

"Don't know what we're walking in to."

"Low on ammo." Karl pointed out. "No heavy artillery, no explosives, no mounted machine gun, one sniper."

"Two." Ray corrected, gun slung over his shoulder and cradled in his arm, he waggled two fingers. "Two."

"Spenser?" Trent jumped out of the truck, stood beside Kenny, snorted. "Not happening." He cast a glance around to see what everyone was doing. "Even if I could get him awake, he won't see straight."

"He doesn't have his rifle anyway." Sonny pointed out. "Anyone bring an extra sniper rifle? No? Then Ray, dude, you're it."

Jason wandered away from the truck, had a foot on the rickety guardrail, tested its give. He peered over, paced down the road, then up the road, splayed his palms on top of the rail, pushed up. "Chris?"

"Yeah boss? What's up?" He joined his boss at the guardrail.

"What do you think?" Jason studied the terrain – a steep hill, not a cliff. No rock formations, mostly loose gravel, sand, small stones. "Doable?"

Chris was quiet, stared down the hill, looked back at the truck. "Trying to decide the same thing boss." He hesitated. "Incline? Degree? Descent? Slant? Speed? Wheel base? Axle? Width? Weight? Who's good at math? Anyone good at word problems? Anyone?"

Silence.

"One of us is." Seth finally spoke up. "And it ain't me."

"Hey now, he-who-be-the-mathematician-is-imitating-Rip Van Winkle." Sonny objected. "Ain't the weight of the vehicle on the inside of the door frame?"

"Yeah…yeah, it is. In _America_!"

"What does that do for us?"

"Not trusting him to wake up right."

"Or see straight."

"Don't need him to shoot, just calculate."

"Chance he might not even know where he is, who we are."

"Ain't the truck American? It is, right? It's made in America."

"Tire tread is shot." Seth pointed out to Chris who grimaced, nodded, held a palm over his face.

"Wait…what? You're thinking of going down that hill?" Ray exclaimed. "Jay, that's suicide."

"And going forward isn't?" Brock shot back, earned a glare from his 2IC. "Options Ray, gotta consider them all."

"Blackburn is sending Dutch with the guys to engage from below." Ray said calmly. "I say we sit and wait." Matt and Jeff would come with heavy artillery. He wasn't sure how Blackburn would arrange it, but he knew he would.

"And if they come up the mountain?"

"You're a sniper every bit as good as he is, can't you calculate in your head what Chris needs to go down that hill?"

"Not too many places to hide."

"They will, we don't go down."

"The storm will hinder them as well."

"They likely have wipers on their truck."

"And you know, a mounted .50 cal machine gun."

"With a rocket launcher."

"They don't know we have back-up inbound."

"Gonna be a fire fight either up here or down there."

"So, it's a game of; does Dutch arrive before they grow impatient and come after us."

"They're gonna see us."

"We'll be too far away by then."

"Not for an RPG!"

"They'll be behind us, will give chase."

The bickering continued. Jason let them go at it, paced as he warred to come to a decision.

"Trent?"

They had options and the best one was finding out if they could drive down the hill to the road below and avoid the armed group lying in wait for them. Odds were against them that all ten men of Bravo would make it out alive, they drove into an ambush. He simply couldn't do that, send his men to their deaths or life-altering injuries, without weighing all his choices. Not if there was another way.

His medic was not among his bickering men.

"Hey!" Jason said sharply, trailing Trent to the rear of the truck where he lounged with a foot on the bumper, staring without seeing into the distant trees. "Wake him up."

"Not that simple."

"The lives of every man on this truck is at stake, yeah, it's that simple."

"He's not asleep Jace, I knocked his ass out."

Jason glanced around, pushed a hand through his hair, drank some water. "Handle it."

Trent was silent, then grabbed the frame of the truck, swung up onto the bumper. "I can handle Clay…you handle the next dick that comes gunning for him better than you did this one."

Jason wanted to object, but he let it go. He had not taken Cap's obsession with Jaber as seriously as he should have and Clay had paid a price that could have ended his life. Yeah, he was gonna wrestle with that for a while.

He stomped off.

Trent was pissed, mad, annoyed. Guilt and resentment warred with pride and acceptance. Clay was his teammate, friend, brother and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to keep the kid happy, healthy, and alive, but that didn't mean he didn't sometimes find Clay's issues and responses to medications tiresome.

He hadn't expected to find the kid missing. Hadn't expected to have to track him down, hike after his ass. Hadn't expected to find him hurt or shot, suffering from loss of blood and too-quick onset of infection. He'd kinda thought, hoped, they'd find their wayward pain in the ass, sitting at a table, sipping tea. But yeah, this was Clay, so...pffft.. he'd known that outcome hadn't been likely.

He was edgy and hot and he wanted to let the kid _just_ sleep. Waking him up, if he could do it, wasn't going to be easy – could even be dangerous. Doc had warned him that some people woke with transient global amnesia, which, while not dangerous would be mighty inconvenient right now. And sometimes, if a medically, medicated induced sleep was disrupted, the patient could suffer a seizure and modern medicine had no idea why.

And this was Clay, so…stroke anyone?

"Dunno what I ever did to deserve you." Trent muttered. "You're a pain in my ass." And yet, the thought of someone else being Clay's medic, soured his stomach. "Okay, a challenge." He amended, palmed Clay's forehead, caressed the bruising around his eye with the pad of his thumb. "A challenge I willingly took on and Doc is geeking out over, but kid, I swear..."

Just wait until he got the kid in his hands when he was hale and hearty! Leave the base knowing his team was coming to get him? No way was the kid going to get away with that!

He snagged a bottle of water from the cooler, took a drink, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. Clay looked young - too young to be the man he was - face flushed from the heat, bangs damply curled on his sweaty forehead...despite bruising and a swollen eye, his eyelashes were impossibly long. He was feeling no pain or discomfort from the weather or any injury and the very last thing Trent wanted to do, was wake him up.

No.

No, that wasn't true. The very _last_ thing Trent wanted to do, was die.

"Wake up Clay."

"Sonny!" Jason yelled, stomped off.

()

Waking Clay up from his medication induced sleep was the hardest thing Trent had ever had to do. He didn't wake easily and for a moment, Trent didn't think anything he tried, was going to succeed.

He called – no response, not even a change in breathing.  
He shook – no muscle control, Clay flopped about like Holly Hobby.  
He slapped – not even a flutter of an eyelash.  
He tickled, pinched, flicked, tugged an ear, plugged his nose, splashed cold water from melting in his face – no response.  
No reaction to pain.  
Smelling salts – useless.

"Come on kid, you're not doing this to me." It had been Trent's, and his alone, decision to give the kid the pain med even knowing the outcome. No one would blame him and no one had expected shit to go sideways or their evacuation route to be compromised but that didn't stop Trent from feeling failure would be all his fault.

How the hell had anyone known where they were anyway?

For a second, he considered the two women they'd found Clay with, but immediately dismissed the thought. They'd done nothing but help and take care of Clay, hadn't attempted to keep Bravo from him and their offered shortcut down the hill to the truck had occurred without issue.

No, it wasn't Wasiqa Jaber.

"SONNY!" He bellowed, pushed to his feet, nudged Clay in the shoulder, hip, thigh, calf. He remained limp and wiggled like a bowl of Jell-O. No resistance whatsoever. "HEY! Need you a sec." He didn't get Clay awake and coherent soon, it wouldn't matter. They guessed Dutch and the guys were over an hour out and the men down the hill would be mobile within 30 minutes, so he had maybe 15 to get Clay in a state he could comprehend what they needed from him.

Sonny left Brock and Ray, returned to the truck, Jason on his heels. "S'up?"

"Grab an ankle."

"Wait…what?"

"Grab an ankle, hang him upside down."

"Uh, no." Sonny shook his head. "Makes him puke."

"Oh, well then, okay…hey guys! Sonny doesn't want to make the kid puke, so how about we pool our ammo, take a stand, fight it out."

"Asshole." Unbuckling the straps that secured Clay to the litter, Sonny flipped his smirking teammate off, grabbed a foot, dragged Clay towards him. Trent reached for the other foot, but Jason waved him off, took a firm hold, lifted in tandem with Sonny, each supporting an arm and a leg.

"Dangle him over the tailgate, jounce him a bit, watch his head." Trent directed. "For Christ Sake Sonny! Watch. His. HEAD!" He yelped when he felt Sonny let Clay drop too close to the ground. "Give him here."

"Don't be such a ninny. He's nowhere near the ground, Mother Hen." Sonny complained but he obeyed, raised his arms higher. "Damn, he's heavy…this gonna work? This better work."

"You have his bad leg, have a care." Trent retorted. "You make him bleed, sleep on your belly with one eye open."

The Texan's eyes narrowed as he adjusted his hold on Clay's ankle. He hadn't forgotten the time he'd pushed Trent too far and woken up to find that he'd had an unfortunate encounter with a bottle of Nair.

Clay swinging by his ankles, arms dangling as he was dipped and dropped and raised and gently jounced, Trent crouched down, broke open another packet of smelling salts, waved them under Clay's nose, slapped at his cheek.

"That's it….come on…." Trent held Clay's face between his palms, called his name repeatedly, ordered him to wake up, open his eyes. "Hey there….hey….okay, okay, you're ok….whoa…easy….put him down." He told the others when Clay coughed and sputtered. They immediately lowered him to the ground outside the truck. His hands reached the dirt but he didn't attempt to hold or support his weight…and they all knew he was capable of hand-stands. Trent braced his head, supported his neck, eased his shoulders flat in the dirt as Sonny and Jason continued to hold him by his feet, letting him down slowly, jumping one at a time out of the truck when his ass hit the ground. "Easy, just stay still….that's it…breathe…no, keep your eyes open….hey."

Sonny jumped to the ground last, grabbed an arm, helped drag Clay into a sitting position, his back supported against a tire. He slumped like Cerberus gone boneless when he didn't want to get up. "Hey there, you blue-eyed bitch." He greeted with a grin. "Looking a bit confused there boy-toy. Open your eyes Clay, lemme see those purdy blues."

"Baffled." Someone offered.

"Perplexed."

_Please be ok. Please be ok. Please be ok, chanted Trent silently._

"Bewildered."

"Befuddled."

_Don't have a seizure, no seizures, seizures are not allowed._

"Muddleheaded."

Every set of eyes swiveled to Sonny.

"What?" Sonny said defensively.

"Where'd you hear a big word like that?"

_God, please, no strokes. Don't let him throw a stroke. I'll pet a camel, milk a goat, just please…let him wake up okay. Let him know who we are._

"Is it wrong?"

"No, just not you."

Sonny stood his ground, but wilted under the intense, amused, waiting stares. "I read a book." He muttered a confession, hung his head, kicked a toe in the dirt. "What? I can read, you know."

Trent's hands went to his hips, eyes on Clay who shifted in the dirt, blinking and squinting as he tried to wake up and make sense of what was going on. He was puffy-faced, red-eyed, tousled headed and completely clueless, heels digging in the dirt. Unable to keep his eyes open, his hands fisted, hit the ground. His head bobbed, his breath came in heaving, heavy pants. He reached over his head, found the wheel well, took hold, tugged, lifted his ass off the ground.

"Gonna hurl?" Brock asked quietly. He didn't move quickly or speak loudly, waited patiently for Clay to gain control, top the pull of the medication, react knowingly. "Where you going? Huh? Need you to stay put. Let go. Can you let go for me?" Brock pried his fingers from the truck, held his hands for a minute, squeezed his fingers, returned them to his lap.

Clay licked dry lips, tasted blood, made a face, swallowed repeatedly, rapidly – the taste remained. He felt gritty. And sweaty. And hot. And the world just would not stop spinning.

"Only kinds of books those words are found in, are romance novels."

"And you know that, how?" Ray teased. "Sonny, that true?"

"Janine's been known to bring one or two home from the library." Trent reached out, tilted Clay right when he went left. "Focus your eyes on one thing Spense."

"You read medical books."

"Was laid up on the couch, closest book to me….whoa!" He tilted Clay left when he fell too far right. "Focus."

"Want me to splash him with water?" Sonny joked but when Trent nodded, didn't hesitate to uncap a bottle of water and squeeze it as he flung his hand back and forth.

Clay spluttered, tongue darting out to lick at the moisture. "Uh." He hunched a shoulder to wipe his face on his t-shirt, nearly slid right off the tire but Brock had him, protected his head from the hard metal of the truck bumper. "Nugh."

"That's it. Wake up." Trent said. "Hey, need you with me. You've got to focus, pay attention."

He didn't want to. He was hot and itchy and tired. His hip hurt, his head hurt, his neck hurt. Combined, it was all enough to convince him, he didn't have to focus on or pay attention to, _anything or anyone_. Both Jason and Ray were here, they could handle whatever situation came their way, whatever problem they faced.

He let his eyes roll, his head droop and this time, he didn't go with the gentle push when Trent tried to make him sit upright, sagged into Brock who let him settle against his chest.

"Hey Clay." Chris squatted down next to Trent in front of him. "You awake buddy? Need to ask you something."

_Who are you? Trent, who is he? Do I know him? Am I supposed to? Trent? TRENT!_

He wanted Trent. The medic always made him feel better when he felt like shit. He pulled his knees up, dug his heels in, tightened his thigh and butt muscles, tried to push up…failed, went limp, stretched his legs out restlessly.

"Clay, hey, it's me, Chris."

_Chris? Chris? Chris? He knew a Chris. Their driver was named Chris. Chris and..and..and…uh….Chris._

Clay frowned, turned his head to wipe more water from his face on Brock's sleeve, but didn't pull away or open his eyes. If someone wanted something from him, they could damn well make the world stop spinning first.

"Can I slap him? Let me slap him!" Sonny asked eagerly, deflated when several stern voices told him no. "Never let me have no fun."

A nose, cold despite the temperature, nudged his cheek, wormed its way under his chin…a tongue, bad breath. He was licked. Once, twice…repeatedly.

"Woof!"

A dog. Cerberus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter became so long...I had to divide it into two! And I still have an ending to do...next chapter will be up later today...I have to proof-read and miss all the mistakes I should fix.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, yeah, I know nothing about mathematical word problems or where and how a large-size vehicle can be driven.

Climbing out of the deep, dark hole he'd been comfortably sleeping in had been hard enough; resisting the urge to return to it was monumental. Clay didn't want to stay awake. Didn't want to sit up. Didn't want to talk to anyone. Didn't want to do _anything_. But Cerberus was in his face, whining, licking, nudging….was something wrong with Brock?

A furry head rested on his lap, waited patiently for him to fight the pull of the medication….he did, it wasn't easy…..

He put the palm of one hand against his forehead – the world spun.  
He put both palms against his forehead – the world spun faster.  
He held his head between his hands – still spinning.  
His ears roared – picking up speed.  
He covered his ears – spinning wildly.  
He crossed his arms over his head, pressed his elbows against his ears – the world came to such an abrupt halt – it forced the contents of his stomach to appear.

No vomiting, no retching, just one hiccup and he spewed water into the dirt between his thighs, muscles quivering, spasming. He wanted to lie down, tried to, but multiple hands stopped him, kept him upright.

Seth quickly kicked dirt over the mess and Sonny dragged Clay around the corner of the truck.

"Brock?" Clay struggled to get away, to stand, was pushed firmly down. "Bra…."

"Right here. Some water? Swish and spit." Brock offered quietly. Clay grabbed the wrist that was attached to the hand holding a bottle, squeezed. "Take a minute." He didn't try to pull his hand back or break Clay's desperate hold. "I'm right here Clay, right here. I'm good. Cerb's just happy to see you."

Clay went limp, stopped trying to stand up, let someone give him a drink, swallowed, refused more.

"Hey, look, I know you feel like crap, but I need you to focus, talk to Chris? Can you do that? He needs to ask you something."

Sonny or Brock or Ray, and Clay would have slipped unconscious without a guilty thought. But Chris? Clay opened his eyes, peered up. It was a Herculean feat. His toes curled with the effort. His knees locked, his legs shook, his hands grabbed at the air before fisting and going to his head. He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes until pain flared from the swelling and bruise that hadn't yet completely subsided.

_Chris? Who the hell was Chris?_

"I need your help."

Whoever Chris was, he must have a question that Jason couldn't answer and it must be important, because everyone was just standing around, waiting.

_That_ he could figure out, but why he felt like he'd been hung upside down, dangled off the back of a truck and shaken awake was beyond him.

"GAH!" Tears sprang to his eyes when a vial of ammonia was waved under his nose. Christ, he hated that shit…the smell, the fumes always made his eyes sting, his nose run and 9 times out of 10, he cried.

He cried.

Wiping his eyes with balled fists, he glared at Trent with a heavy-lidded stare who smirked right back at him.

"Need you." Chris said, handed him a rag to wipe his nose. "You good?"

"Gimme minute." Eyes wide and tearing, he wiped and dried his face, drank some water, attempted, and failed, to rise to his feet. "Gimme a hand?"

Multiple hands reached for him, but it was Sonny's he accepted, Sonny he allowed to hold him while he wavered and weaved unsteadily on his feet, tried and failed to find his balance.

"Give him a minute." Trent told Chris. "He's coming around."

"What the…..? The hell you doin'?" Sonny whined as Clay sluggishly, without coordination patted and petted him, dug a shaky hand into one pocket after another. "The hell Clay, get your touchy, feely paws outta my pants." He rolled his eyes when Clay found what he wanted – Chap-stick. "Okay Einstein…careful….hip hurt? Don't put your full weight on it. You were shot, you know that, right? Let Brock take your weight….right, okay, yeah, now…here, gimme….you can have it, just want to take the top off for you, okay with that? Not gonna put it on for you though, you're on your own."

Clay allowed both Brock's support and Sonny's steadying hand, tested his weight on his bum hip, grimaced at the flare of pain, hobbled a step, took another. Though it hurt, the pain was welcome, cut through his fuzzy-head and made him a bit more aware. The sun though, was doing its best to defeat any progress he was making.

He'd been shot, huh? When'd that happen?

He raised a hand to shield his eyes, ducked, tried to step back so the truck blocked the sun. When that didn't work, he tried to sink to his knees but wasn't allowed. He was shifted and guided so the sun was behind him.

"You good?" Jason asked, gave him a pair of sunglasses. "Can see outta both eyes, right? Swelling's down, bruising's faded. Put those on, sun's bright, gonna be up a while yet."

Clay shrugged, didn't matter if he was or wasn't. They wanted something from him and though they were patient now, they wouldn't be for long. If only he could defeat the damn sun….he needed help guiding the glasses to his face, hook them behind his ears. The dark lenses immediately cut the glare of the sun and the relief to his head was instant.

"I'm…" He took a deep breath, winced, tried again. "I'm…..uh…ow." His shoulder bumped against the truck, he let it hold his weight, tried a third time to take a deep breath. Failed. "No."

Trent coaxed him around, teased him into responding, goaded him into anger, asked him several questions: name, age, date, year, president, country, date of the week, how many batteries did a Mag-lite take.

That question earned him the signature 'Clay Spenser look of disgust', curled lip, scrunched nose, because Trent hadn't specified what size battery.

"Hey," Chris stepped forward. "Ready to talk to me?" Everyone had been stealing glances at their watch, shifted their weight impatiently, looked down the hill, kept an eye on the sky. "Need your help here."

His team needed him. Didn't matter how he felt or what he was going through. His team came first. "If I gotta, yeah….what do…you want?" He doubled over, hands clasped between his thighs, hip screaming, head hollering. "Fuck me."

"Walk over here." Chris said. "Take me down it."

Clay hesitated, loathe to leave the meager shade offered by the truck but neither Sonny nor Brock tried to stop him, so he limped away, crossed the road, Chris on his heels, chattering away. He looked over the guardrail, pushed a hand through his hair, engaged in a conversation with Chris no one else could follow. He stepped left, then right, hobbled across the road, accepted Chris's arm to hobble back. Gimped around the truck, went back to the guardrail, shook his head, nodded.

"Can be done." Seth told Jason when he approached. Both Chris and Clay were under the truck.

"You sure?"

Seth nodded. He knew Chris. It was a go.

"Maintain….." Clay was saying as he emerged from under the rear axle, slithering on his belly, "Any faster, lose control." He sat up, hands waving, demonstrating something only Chris understood. "Any slower, get stuck or slide sideways." He was lifted to his feet, stood still while numerous hands brushed dirt and sand from his chest and belly. He flicked a glance at his boss, ignored him. "Don't brake, will go ass over end. Don't gain speed." Forgetting his hip, his aching head, he moved to jump over the guardrail, was stopped by those same hands that grabbed any part of him they could reach.

"Nuh-nuh." Jason scolded. "No, you don't."

"I want to see how loose…." He was breathing too fast, Trent warned him to slow it down. He tried, gulped, held his breath, erupted into a coughing fit. "Need to..." His nose ran, his eyes leaked, saliva bubbled on his lips. "I'M TRYING!" he snapped, wiped his chin, when Trent again said his breaths were too quick.

"Not you." Jason reiterated. "Seth can do whatever stupid idea you have in your head. Get in the back. Chris has any questions, he can key in."

"But I'd be….." He was panting and Trent was moving in. He extended a hand to ward him off. "Need to..."

"No."

"See how far you sink in the gravel." Clay told Seth who effortlessly vaulted over the guardrail, slid down the hill a bit, stood up. "Over your boots?"

"No."

Clay tugged loose, stumbled, caught his weight on the guardrail, swallowed hard as he fought not to go head over heels. His palms were sweaty and his grip on the top rail slipped. He would have pitched forward had Kenny not circled an arm around him from behind, held tight, picked him up and swung him back into the shade of the truck before letting him go.

"Go over there." Clay breathless, voice thick, pointed to a section of guardrail. "Can back up, hit 30, and go over at speed."

No one questioned him, jumped into action when Jason ordered the guardrail taken down.

"Gonna hafta pick up speed when you're about down, run the guardrail. Get back on the road there." Clay pointed in the distance, Chris nodded. "You don't bust through it, no backing up for a second try, likely to bust the radiator and we're belly up."

"Keep it steady." Seth added. "Skid out, doubt you'll be able to regain control."

Chris kept his face expressionless. Nope, no pressure here. But hell, he'd watched Trent force Clay awake and if Spenser could fight through what it took to come out of a drug induced sleep, he could damn well drive a truck down a hill. You weren't a member of Bravo if you weren't cocky, arrogant and confident of the abilities that you'd been selected for.

"Load up." Jason called. "Brock up front, Ken, ride up top, Karl take the passenger door step, Sonny and I have the tailgate. Anything moves, take it out."

"Guess that leaves us," Ray paused, pointed, then reached out to snag a wandering Clay and halt his progress. He didn't agree that it took to people to watch Clay, but Jason obviously did, so whatever. "With him." He watched Trent shake his head as the guardrail was dismantled. "Where you going? Do something with him."

"I did, you made me wake him up."

"Yeah, and we had a choice?" Ray let Clay lean against the truck, his weight balanced unsteadily on his good leg. "You said his issues and reactions to medications wouldn't be a problem." He was impressed Trent had known what to do to wake Clay up. "Good job waking him up."

"They aren't." Trent swung up into the truck, reached for Clay. "We're too comfortable relying on his talents to bail our asses out of deep shit." Kenny and Karl easily lifted Clay off his feet, handed him up, moved off to collect their gear and load up. "Just say a prayer he woke up okay."

Before Ray could question that comment, Chris turned the engine over. Ray made one last sweep of the area, joined Clay and Trent in the back of the truck as Chris shifted into reverse.

"Anything to say?" Ray asked as Trent man-handled a hand-slapping Clay onto a bench near the cab of the truck, wedged him towards the corner.

"Who? Me?" Clay stared at the strap Trent tried to hand him. He finally took it because Trent picked his hand up and wrapped his fingers around it. When he couldn't move it, he blinked up in confusion. "About what?" Chris out of his sight, what he'd been needed for was fast fading and his barely-there grip on reality was fading even faster.

Trent removed his helmet, plopped it on Clay's head, didn't care if it sat straight, buckled the strap beneath his chin. Clay simply sat still, didn't try to help Trent or push him away.

"Hold tight." He warned, moved to the back of the truck to poke his head out next to Karl. "Don't let go." He called back. "Ray, watch him," and he turned his attention back outside the truck.

"Walking off the base!" Ray slapped a palm against his leg. Clay bit his tongue, held steady, didn't flinch. "The hell did you think you were doing?" Trent poking his bare, unprotected head out the back of the truck pissed him off. "Really Spenser?"

Clay blinked.

"Why? Why Spenser? Why would you do that? Why would you go? You knew we were on our way. All you had to do was wait! Just wait for us."

Clay blinked. Wait? The hell did that mean, wait? Hadn't he done what was asked of him? Woke up, stayed awake, fought his stomach; ignored his head, the pull on his muscles to just relax and close his eyes; dealt with the heat and unrelenting sun; fought his way out of welcoming blackness and dug through disorienting fog to add and calculate, judge distance and weight and speed? What more did they want from him? Had he guessed inaccurately? Misculated?

"You just couldn't help yourself, right? Decided to go find Jaber? Or did you just want to flick your fingers in Cap's face?"

Clay stared, eyes dry and turning red from the intense effort of keeping them open…God, they burned, he'd lost the sunglasses somewhere. Befuddled, fuzzy-headed, medicated, over-heated and in pain, he couldn't think straight or follow Ray's rant.

"…..you ever think about anyone other than yourself? What you want? About us? What you put us through?"

Clay stared, no longer able to even blink. He just sat and let Ray ream him out, took the dressing down with a stoic face, licked dry lips with a swollen tongue. He really had no idea what Ray was yelling at him for, but his 2IC's raised voice brought Trent back and Clay reached for him, for some reason, needing comfort.

"…we get back to base…" Ray finished. "I don't want to see you."

Trent elbowed him in the gut, gave him a look with a curled lip, let Clay hold his wrist.

"What?" Ray grunted defensively. "He had it coming."

"He was shot."

"He was grazed."

"He's dehydrated, weak from blood loss, has an infection."

"He's upright and walking."

"He's shaky and unsteady." Trent sat down next to Clay on the bench, wedged him firmly into the corner so he was braced, trapped between the side of the truck and himself. "Just, when you asked him how he was doing, how he felt, did you ask if his wrists hurt?" He snapped his fingers, smacked his palm against his forehead. "Oh, right, you forgot to ask him how he got those rope burns, right?"

It was Ray's turn to stare. Rope burns?

"Or hey, how he got shot?" He planted his feet, told Clay, who was breathing heavily, to do the same. Trent didn't like that, felt if he were to listen to Clay's lungs, he'd find the kid wheezing. "You think she shot him? Kinda doubtful, don't ya think?"

"You said he was okay."

"I won't feel right until he's in Doc's hands." He twisted, pushed, shoved until Clay's thigh was wedged firmly against his. "Deep breaths, Spense, slow your breathing down and hang tight, gonna be a rough ride."

With a: Lurch, jerk. Thump. Bump. Bumpity-bump. Thumpity-bum-bump. They were on their way.

Chris had stopped backing up, and was now driving forward, picking up speed until he hit 30 mph, then headed straight for the break in the guardrail. The jolt of the front tires dropping off the road caused Clay to bounce on the bench. His bandaged hip rode hard against Trent, rubbed friction until fire sparked and pain spiked.

He hissed, bit his lip, tried to breathe.

The front tires finding purchase tipped him forward and dealing with pain, he forgot to hold tight and only Trent's arm hastily thrown out in front of him kept him on the bench.

He gulped, bit his tongue.

The back tires bumped down. His feet kicked out and up while Trent's remained firmly planted on the floor. His ass lifted up, hit back down on the bench so hard, his teeth rattled. Trent was prepared and able to control himself on the rough, wild ride while Clay wasn't able to comprehend he was in a moving vehicle.

He bit his cheek, drew blood, swallowed hard at the taste, choked, leaned forward much as the arm across his chest allowed, spat on the floor.

"Easy, breath through it." Trent coached. "Almost over."

Ray checked to make sure everyone hanging on to a bumper, door handle, tailgate, rooftop was still along for the ride, turned his head to check on Trent and Clay, was knocked off his feet.

"DAMMIT CHRIS! HAVE A CARE!"

Chris paid no attention to anyone, his concentration on maintaining speed and accuracy on their downward, reckless plunge. There nothing he could do about the bouncing and jouncing as the tires slid and spun for purchase. He kept the truck as steady as he possibly could, eyes straight ahead and prayed.

Clay slid right, then left, bounced up, plummeted down, fell right. His dry eyes made his vision work intermittently and he didn't see the hand reach out to protect his head. He was tugged sideways, he smelled dirt, sweat….Old Spice. It was familiar, it meant safety and he didn't fight the firm hold, let his head fall to Trent's shoulder.

Trent couldn't keep both himself and Clay still and on the bench, so he sacrificed his hips and back to numerous bruises in favor of preventing Clay from whacking his head again. He scooted backwards until he was wedged into the corner opposite Clay, then tugged him close, maneuvering him until he was on his back. Ray lifted Clay's feet unto the bench and he instinctively braced his feet, toes splayed, against the steel wall of the truck beneath the canvas.

"You got him? You okay?" Ray asked from his knees, palms bracing his weight against a bench. "He good?"

A shout, a sound of gun fire and Ray was belly-walking towards the rear of the truck, the steep pitch of the truck adding resistance to his progress. With Clay secure in Trent's lap, Ray felt no need to give either of them his attention, instead, he focused on lending any assistance he could to those outside the truck.

"All good?" Trent called, doubling forward so his head wouldn't whack the wall.

"Good!'' Ray shouted back. "Almost down!"

Chris didn't breathe again until all four tires of the truck were on firm, even ground. Ken was thrown from the top of the truck, retrieved by Sonny and Karl, and they were on their way towards Dutch and the rest of Bravo support.

Distant gun fire alerted them that their mad plunge down the hill had been spotted, but no rockets were launched at them and they were too far away for whatever was being shot at them to matter. Chris waited until all of Bravo were within the safety of the truck, gunned it and sped away. He was on a road now – his turf, his comfort zone and nothing was in his way to prohibit his speedy return to safety.

All he wanted to see was the armored, armed vehicle coming at them carrying Dutch and the rest of their team with Matt manning a .50 cal automatic machine gun.

Once they'd reached safety, Trent released Clay so he could sit up, but the kid didn't move. Trent bounced his knee – no reaction. Gave him a shake – no response. Pushed – nothing.

"Yeah?" Sonny responded to Trent's motion, knelt down. "Want me to take him?"

"He pass out?"

Sonny spread his knees, sat his ass on the floor, reached out to thumb open an eye, flashed a light – saw blue eyes staring at him, waggled a gloved hand.

"Weeelll…..lookee there! Two eyes!" Sonny cackled. "Swelling's worse."

"The heat, probably."

"Sit him up."

Sonny pulled while Trent pushed and Karl swung Clay's feet to the floor. He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands loose between thighs and just sat.

Kenny offered him water, Jason offered him a bottle of Gatorade, he took neither. Sonny soaked a rag from the ice water in the Yeti cooler, wrapped it dripping wet around Clay's neck who sat without moving for several seconds, then lifted the ends of the towel and buried his face in it.

Trent was pawing at his side, pushing his shirt up, thumbing his briefs out of his way to apply another bandage that he simply slapped over the one that was now blood stained.

"He good?" Jason asked, passed bottles of cold water and Gatorade through the rear window of the cab to Seth, asked the same question, received an affirmative answer. "Tell me he's good."

"Not gonna bleed out on me." Trent tore tape with his teeth. "Should hurt though, and he ain't complaining." And he didn't like that.

"No more waking him up when you give him….well, whatever shit you gave him." Sonny stated. "Don't like it."

"Didn't expect to have to come find him." Trent retorted snappishly. "Or find him hurt. Had no reason to think I'd need a med bag. I gave him what I had to ease his pain. Never thought I'd have to wake him out of a stupor to save our asses."

Ray sighed. He hadn't meant to lay any guilt on the medic or make him feel any of this was his fault. "Thing is Trent, we never should have had to come after him. He knew we were on our way, his ass should have stayed put and waited for us. But no. He's Spenser. He had to go find her and he found trouble. When is enough, enough? This lone ranger behavior is going to….."

"Hold up." Jason gained his feet, balanced his weight by spreading his feet and holding a steel post. "Ray, I get it, I do, but the kid didn't leave the base, he was taken from it."

Clay stirred, raised a hand to cup the back of his head, pushed at the helmet, had his hand slapped down.

"How do you know that?" Ray demanded. "Jaber? Really Jay? You're gonna believe everything that comes out of her mouth? Seriously?"

"She said she and her men took him from a group they are known to feud with, it was made to look like he'd left base on his own to meet her."

"Cap."

"An attempt to draw her out."

"That sure backfired."

"What, she have eyes and ears everywhere?"

"Would explain the rope burns, the gun shot."

"Wait, just wait!" Ray exclaimed. "Hold up, wait…."

"I did." Clay twisted. "Wait…waited….I did. I waited."

"Sssh-shush." Sonny gave him a friendly punch in the arm. It knocked him sideways into the wall. "Let the grown-ups talk." He set Clay right again, kept a hand on his shoulder. "No falling over on the job, here dude."

"You're saying someone kidnapped him from base, held him and Jaber rescued him? Took him to a mountain hideaway? Why?"

"Keep him safe?"

"But she let us come after him, let us have him…..she let us see her!"

"Ray, come on."

"You let her go!"

"She didn't hurt him."

"She hurt…."

"Enough!" Jason barked. "She doesn't matter Ray. She's gone. We don't know what Cap had planned. Far as I'm concerned, she saved his life and for that, I never laid eyes on her."

"Can't be like that Jay."

"This isn't on us. It's on Cap and he's going to pay."

"You truly believe he had Clay kidnapped off base, held as bait to draw her out, but she took him to a mountain hideaway instead? You're going to lay that on Cap? Kinda far fetched."

"Would explain why he doesn't have any clothes on."

"My head hurt." Clay cut in. "Had a headache, wanted a Popsicle. Went to the...uh...mess...cafeteria, got an orange one...no, a creamsicle, was walking back to quarters...woke up tied to a chair...then...bang and smoke...woke up...uh, not there...somewhere else."

"With no clothes?"

"Was...hot."

"Spenser? Hey, just wanna says thanks." Kenny squeezed his shoulder. "Did good man, so, yeah, thanks. Thanks for that. Lookin' like we got around the ambush, and are well on our way back to base. Couldn't have done it without you."

Clay flicked a hand in Kenny's direction, nodded, had no idea what he was talking about.

"Jay..."

Talk, arguing, swirled around him but Clay could no longer follow what was being said or who was saying it. He'd never felt so disoriented and discombobulated in his entire life. He was floating, drifting away, the voices became distant, he reached out for an anchor, held tight. His hair itched. Something heavy was on his head and no amount of bobbing dislodged it.

"Whoa there, what'cha tryin' to do?" Sonny bumped shoulders, unprepared for a hot, sweaty body to pitch forward, but caught it anyway. "We get back, you are so going straight to the infirmary dude."

He didn't.


	11. Chapter 11

Chris approached the gates to the base but didn't even have to slow down. They were spotted and the gates opened wide, allowing them and the truck carrying Dutch and the rest of Support to pass through, then closing behind them. By the time he rolled to a complete stop, the truck had emptied and hands were reaching for Clay who Sonny handed down to Chuck and Greg, then jumped to the ground.

The commotion and activity could only be described as utter chaos. It was loud and noisy, people darted and ran here, there, and everywhere. Dogs barked, motors revved, doors slammed, people shouted. It was beginning to sprinkle and Ray took a second to offer a prayer, sent a thank-you heavenward that they had arrived back at base before the storm hit.

"What we looking at?" Jason asked Eric as simply stood and surveyed. "We clear?"

"They want him for debrief."

"Now?"

"Who's they?"

"Can't be now."

"No way."

"Enough!" Jason barked. The only thing that had gone their way today, was beating the storm back to base. "Blackburn?"

The heat, the noise, the frantic movement of so many people was overwhelming and Clay, forgotten while everyone argued, abruptly went down on his ass in the sand. Trent's helmet was gone and he blinked against the sun that, despite the gathering clouds, was still hot and bright. The move brought everyone and everything to a silent standstill.

Blackburn stood, hands on his hips, waiting for answers to questions he hadn't yet asked, expecting someone to speak. No one did.

"Really?" He sighed tiredly. His crack commando team, the cream of the crop, best the Navy had to offer, stood protectively, disheveled and unkempt, in complete disarray, around their ace sniper who sat on his ass in the dirt, wearing only his underwear looking like a dirty, disease infested, drug addict with no possible chance of stringing together a complete sentence. "Anyone?" He waited. "Anyone at all?"

Shuffling of feet and the general motion of the crowd signaled approaching new comers and the circle of legs around Spenser gathered and tightened. No one moved to get the kid on his feet.

Yeah, no one was getting near him.

"Uh, rough ride?" Ray offered lamely with a weak grin. Eric shook his head. "No? Then I got nothing."

Clay made a weak effort to stand. A valiant effort to get out of the sun. Settled for scooching backwards on his ass and palms until he found something solid against his back, relaxed his shoulders, head settling between plastic-clad knees. Maybe he should sit up straight, but the sun was finally out of his face and he was comfortable right where he was.

Jason looked down as Clay's hand found his boot and his fingers played with the laces, caught Eric's eye who glared, gave him a cocky grin, shrugged.

"He's under arrest!" Cap strolled up, several people behind him. "Arrest him. Take him into custody."

"Touch him, you'll lose a hand."

"Back off!"

"Woof!"

"He didn't walk off this base, you asshole."

"Your word? You think we're going to take that?"

"My word against his!"

No one moved, words were said, threats issued, taunts thrown, challenges given – a brawl was imminent. And Eric wasn't thinking about how to stop it, he was thinking, he was going to be the one to start it.

"What have we got? Where is he? Let me….move aside, coming through, stand clear! How long am I expected to wait? Didn't you bring him back? I thought….Good Lord! What have you done to him?!"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Here now, is that language really necessary? I say Trent, you couldn't bring him back, in, you know, clothes? He looks terrible, by the way. What the hell happened?" Doc tut-tutted, pushed his way through a wall of men who didn't want to move to let him through, but didn't stop him from nudging and jostling his way in either. "What is he doing out here? HE shouldn't be in the sun. He's dirty. Why is he so dirty? I can't work in these conditions. Eric," he complained, "You promised me an office with a view. You did, he did," he addressed the various men standing around, "He did."

Clay, face swollen and red, eyes puffy and dry, waved a hand in greeting, swallowed, managed a husky 'hey doc'.

"Look at him! Just look at him!" Doc shook his head, wrung his hands, took a breath. "Where to start!"

"The little prick is fine." Cap spat. "He can have some water in command while we debrief, get to the bottom of this."

"You will get him when I am done with him." Doc countered sternly, snapped his fingers. "Get him on his feet."

"You can look at him right where he is."

Blackburn didn't get a chance to argue or issue a counter command. He might have the pull to put Cap in his place on this mission, but there were men with higher rank than Eric on base and they had come with Cap and were not happy about standing outside in the rain.

"In the rain?" Doc protested.

"It's barely sprinkling." Cap scoffed, but the men with him were nodding in agreement with Doc. They wanted out of the rain before it got heavy and they got wet.

"He's in the dirt." Doc frowned.

"I'm…good…." Clay grabbed hold of the material on the closest pair of legs, pulled himself up, accepted the hands that reached to help him to his feet. "I…can…uh, we…goin' somewhere?"

"Give us five." Eric said calmly. "Get him some clothes."

"You have no right to…." Cap began.

"Back off!" Jason stepped forward when Cap moved towards Clay, not that he stood a chance of getting close. Eric winced when Jason's palm collided with Cap's chest. Oh, no, Jason was not scared of reprimand for placing a hand on someone who highly outranked him. Not when it came to his men. "You're not getting near him."

"Five minutes." One of the men with Cap agreed. "If we have to send someone to get him…"

"We'll be there in five." Eric said firmly.

The various men, the MP's and Cap finally left, returned to command to wait for Jason and Eric to bring Clay in.

Doc snapped his fingers, Clay was swept off his feet and once again, was flat on his back in the dirt. He heard Doc ask questions, but not who answered. He heard voices complain about the rain; to hurry up before it got heavier; would it wash any dirt off him. He wouldn't mind laying right where he was for a while in the rain, it would be relief from the heat...he was so hot.

"Shot where? Not deep then? She used what? What'd you give him again? You got him awake? Good job."

Clay roused once, was put right back down, so he gave up. He was poked and pushed and rolled one way, then the other. A prick in one hip, another in his arm. Fingers kneaded his head, combed through his hair. His hip was bared, the bandage removed, the wound cleansed, patted dry, steri-strips applied, rebandaged.

Hands patted and slapped dust and dirt from his t-shirt, towels wiped his face, neck, arms hands, legs, ruffled his hair. He was picked up, set on his feet and led into the building where command operated.

"Hey," Clay blinked, sitting in a chair in a dim hallway. Brock was sitting next to him with a bottle of Gatorade and a clean towel wet with cold water. "Chin up here dude, almost through this, then you can crash and burn, okay?"

"Arms up." Someone told him, and despite Clay having 8 arms and a bottle in every hand, a long-sleeved shirt was worked up his arms over his head. "Good god, he's worse than dressing my kid."

"Gimme a foot," said someone else, "Your other foot….your other…no, not that one…the other…you have two feet, you know." and a pair of casual camo's were left at his knees until he stood up and pulled them up to his hips. He fumbled with the buttons on the fly, gave up, let someone button enough buttons they'd stay up.

"Okay? Good?"

His chin was held, given a slight shake. Someone patted him on the head, the shoulder, his back. He was taken by the shoulders, pivoted and with a pat on his ass, sent through a door where he was greeted by bright lights and blessed air conditioning.

He walked into the room and stopped, Jason and Eric flanked him and the rest of Bravo along with Doc and Support followed in, spread out, took up the same stance, stood quietly.

Ray counted twice, then turned to Jason, gave him a nudge, motioned to Support. They were short 3 men; Randy, Kenny, Karl. Jason frowned, shrugged, nodded. He'd deal with it later.

To anyone in the room who didn't know Bravo, it looked like they were relaxed, at ease and simply standing with their arms behind their backs but each and every man was ready to spring forward in a split second to catch Clay, should he waver and hit the floor.

"Hale and hearty, I see." Cap sneered. "Enjoy your little adventure? Sneak off base? Found your girlfriend, eh?"

Clay pushed a dirty hand through dirty hair, rubbed his dirty face.

"How'd you manage that? No one saw you leave. No video captured your departure. You weren't seen on surveillance." Computer screens flashed, time-stamped videos played, showing every gate and door on and off the base. No underwear clad Clay was seen.

Clay wiped his face with the wet towel he was handed, played with his bangs.

"Tallying up what it cost to fly Bravo here, arm them, send them out after your ass." Cap continued. Papers were pulled from files, handed out, passed around, shuffled back.

"Have a seat." A chair was wheeled towards him, he didn't move. Standing with his feet apart, his weight slightly more on his left leg, he was able to stand still. For the moment, the cool air was welcome but if this took longer than 10 or so minutes, he'd no longer feel the a/c, would be hot and flushed, and fighting to stay on his feet. "We're going to be here a while, sit down, have something to eat."

Clay cast a glance at the table; sandwiches, milk, water, fresh fruit and cookies. He wasn't hungry but he did accept the offered ice packs and ibuprofen. He didn't sit.

"…..use of an unauthorized drone….."

Clay shifted his weight, felt lightheaded. He didn't like being yelled at and though Cap wasn't yelling, his voice was so fast and so loud, he was having a hard time following what he was saying. He answered what questions he understood until he wasn't able to follow the conversation any longer.

Cap was getting increasingly annoyed.

"You think they're going to believe you? Huh? You're no one! You aided and abetted the enemy! An enemy who killed American military men! Your own teammates! You have a history with a known terrorist! It's been proven. Do you really think your almighty Hayes can get you out of this?! Think he wants to? You pinning your hopes on Blackburn? Expect your team to lie for you? Don't. Don't think being on a Tier One team is going to protect you! You're on your own! Do you hear me? Alone! No damn Armstrong this time around to have your back, eh Spenser?"

Clay brought his head up, stared at Cap, head tilted. Brian? Really? The ass was going to drag a dead man into this? The hell was that about? Did he miss Brian? Hell, yeah, he did. He always missed Brian, would always miss him, but as time passed and he became attached to his team, he didn't feel the loss as deeply or as often. This was one of those times though, that feeling of loss – hurt.

What was Cap trying to do? Point out with the loss of Brian, Clay had no support or loyalty among his teammates?

He'd lost more than that. He'd lost the easy smile that always made him feel everything was going to be alright. He'd lost the voice of reason that knocked him and his ego down a peg or two. He'd lost the fist-bump or slap on the back, that told him, even though shit had gone sideways, it hadn't been his fault. He missed the casual, yet comforting hug always freely offered when something had turned devastatingly wrong. He lost the one person who knew him; knew what he thought, how he felt, the way he rolled, what he would do.

It fucking hurt.

And Cap knew it. He beamed smugly as Clay squirmed, ducked his head at the emotional stab to the gut.

"Enough." Eric cut in. "Move on."

"Nothing's getting done here…" Jason began but Doc, of all people cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Let's hear the man out." Doc said calmly.

Everyone turned to stare at Doc. Sonny bared his teeth, Brock growled, Jason was caught with his mouth open.

"Continue." Someone told Cap.

Jason turned to Eric, murder in his eyes. It took Ray three nudges to the team's Chief to get him to back down. And Cap rattled on.

"….you depend too much on your team….they won't always be there…..won't want to be responsible…..you just charge blindly…..expect everyone to back…take for granted….you go off half-cocked….think because you know languages….exceptional skill with a sniper rifle…..ability to calculate…."

Clay swallowed. That second stab that caught his breath in his throat was betrayal. From Doc? That one was hard. He licked his lips, took a drink from a bottle he didn't even know he held in his hand. He was so tired and disoriented he was uncomfortable and having a hard time keeping the pain in his hip at bay.

If anyone in this room had the ability to end this debrief, it was Doc and he'd just given Cap the opportunity to prolong it. Ouch. Yeah, that hurt.

All that did, was let Cap in his head, and he couldn't shake the thoughts that what if he was right and his team resented him? Doc? Did they merely tolerate him because of his abilities with languages and math? His talent with a gun? Ray certainly hadn't been happy with him, believed Clay had just up and walked off base, even knowing Bravo was on their way to get him, to go meet a terrorist. What was it he'd said? Oh right, when they got back to base, he didn't want to see Clay.

Oh, he knew anyone on Bravo or their Support team would level mountains and blow holes in the earth to get him back, but….but….he was their responsibility, an obligation, a duty….that was their motto; no man left behind. Was he their friend? Trusted teammate?

"Well now, truly alone Spenser." Cap smiled. "No one to bail you out? Back you up? Believe your bullshit? What are you going to do? How far do you think you can take this? You tell a good story, almost believable, but you have no proof to back it up. Even if your team testified, wanted to….."

The door banged opened with enough force it slammed against the wall, silencing everyone in the room.

"Finally!" Doc muttered. "Bout time." He'd been told to delay until Randy could arrive, but he didn't know how to do that. His suggestion to hear Cap out had been ill-advised and it would take some time for the team to forgive him, even once they learned the reason he'd done so. Damn that smooth talking Blackburn anyway!

"Commander Capson Molnar, you are hereby, by the authority of the United States Navy, under arrest."

And Randy strode in.

And all hell broke loose.

Everyone was on their feet, including Clay.

"What? Wait! What?" Cap sputtered, outraged. "Me? ME! You have the wrong guy! ARREST HIM!"

"….for the attack and kidnapping of Special Warfare…"

"Get your hands off me!" Cap avoided attempts to take hold of his arms. "Kidnapping? _Kidnapping_?"

"…..Clay Spenser."

"You can't do this! I had nothing to do with….you will pay for his!" He yelled, pointing at Clay. "Don't think you'll get away with this. I outrank you! Outrank everyone in this room! You have no right…."

"….you are remanded into custody until such time your return to United States soil has….."

Clay's tongue darted out, licked, became trapped against his lower lip by his top teeth. The new commotion and noise that had erupted in the room were his undoing. He'd had enough, he swayed left and Jason's arm extended, reached for him, pulled him close. He didn't fight the tug, stepped into the hug, let his forehead fall to his boss's shoulder, left hand holding to his elbow.

"…..hearsay, speculation, guesses. You have no proof…." Cap's rant abruptly fell quiet when the man he'd hired to remove Clay from base and deliver him outside the gate was dragged, beaten and bruised, possibly broken, into the room, hands cuffed behind his back by Kenny and Karl. "What is this?"

"Proof, you say? This? How about, him? You know him, right? This would be the man you paid to knock Spenser out as he was walking back from getting a popsicle and handing him over to a local terrorist cell." Randy smirked at Cap's look of outrage. "What? You didn't think I'd find out about that?"

"We have three of those men beaten to a pulp….uh….in custody as well." Kenny added.

Cap glared at Randy as his arms were wrenched behind his back, wrists crossed and cuffed too tightly in an uncomfortable position, wondered how in the hell, anyone had found about the phone call on the burner phone. How'd they had been able to track down the man he'd told to get the hell out of the country.

"_You_?"

"Shouldn't have served me that swill you said was coffee." Randy chirped, walked over to the table he'd sat at all day, lowered the lid on a laptop, disconnected from the power cord, tucked it under his arm, turned to face Cap. "Me." He handed the computer to Eric. "Don't worry, I have everything backed-up."

"You? You?! Everything? Like what? Where to fly your drone? You're….you….you're a fucking computer nerd! NO!"

"Me." He headed to stand in line behind Jason. "Guess you won't be putting a bullet in his," he jerked a thumb towards the captive, "head after all, huh?"

Cap paled.

"Shouldn't make phone calls from the base." Snarked Randy. "So easy to trace," he paused, added. "And record."

"Ain't that a bitch." Sonny spoke up, made an obnoxious buzzer sound. "Failure."

"Didn't get Jaber, Spenser's still alive and you're going to jail." Brock added.

"You couldn't! There was no way that could be done. None." Cap insisted vehemently.

Randy just smirked. "I recovered altered video that I can trace back to an IP address, bet you're gonna say you don't anything about that, huh?" He pointed directly at Cap's face which only infuriated the man more. "That _everything_. Don't fuck with my coffee, you dick."

"We're done here." Eric said calmly, snapped his fingers, pointed, made a waving motion. "We'll take this until you're court martial-ed and never see outside of a jail cell again."

Cap watched red-faced and irate as Blackburn held his hands out and goddammit all to hell, if that fucking, foreign language speaking, terrorist sympathizer didn't leave the support of Hayes and accept the extended arms and hug that was offered from his Lt. Commander. Hayes gave them a second then took most of Clay's weight back and together, he and Blackburn held onto Spenser and walked him out of the room. Everyone from Bravo and Support, hugging and patting Randy, fell in behind them.

When the door closed, he finally got it: Clay Spenser wasn't alone.

***000***

All Clay wanted to do was return to his quarters and go to bed, but he didn't get his wish. He was whisked off to the infirmary where he was poked, prodded, and tortured under the guise of receiving medical care. Doc was gleeful, unapologetic, unsympathetic and while not brutal, not gentle either. Clay squirmed and flinched and ow'd his way through both the exam and treatment, getting through it by focusing on his reward: his pillow, blanket, bed and a warm dog on his feet for comfort.

Once he was clean via a Doc supervised shower, medicated, treated, stapled and bandaged, he was deemed fit and ordered to a bed in the infirmary. He pled his case over being allowed to return to his quarters, was told he was not to leave Trent's sight, Doc would drop by later to make sure he'd obeyed orders and allowed Trent to inspect the staples, clean any seepage, apply antiseptic ointment and tape a bandage over the wound.

Like Clay wasn't capable of doing it. Pfft.

"Straight to barracks." Doc advised, reluctant to let him go but knowing he wouldn't be able to convince the stubborn ass to stay in the infirmary. "These fine gentlemen will assist you back to Trent. I don't want to see you in here because you fell and burst the staples."

But Clay, drowsy and medicated, didn't know the 'fine gentlemen' and resisted their assistance.

"Hell, I can walk." He groused, slapped away the hands that reached for him, slid from the table, gained his feet without help. "I'll debrief, get it over wit…..OW!" He hopped aside, lost his balance, fell against a staff medic who steadied him.

"Yeah," Doc snorted, pocketed his glasses. "You can debrief." He drawled sarcastically, "Let's see you stand on your own two feet." He waited. "What I thought. Now, keep your weight off that hip and go back to your quarters."

Clay stared. Stand and his own two feet and keep his weight off his hip? Walk? He'd need crutches to walk without weight on his hip and no way in hell, was he walking on crutches.

"Hobble then." Doc sighed, waved him on. "Quickly. Be on your way before I change my mind and keep you here."

Clay gimped out the door on his own. His look and raised hands to ward off anyone's attempt to help him ensured no one was brave enough to risk his temper. His gait was slow and uneven, but he made his way to his quarters, eager to lie down, but seeking his bed was delayed. Despite the heat and the a/c on, the door was open and voices easily carried:

"Why is nothing ever easy with this kid?" Ray sighed. "Always the hard way with him."

"Ray…."

"We were almost here Jay. He was told to wait for us."

"He did."

"He was remanded to quarters."

"Christ Ray, he went to the cafeteria." Brock said. "He has a right to eat."

"Remanded to quarters does not include the cafeteria." Ray shot back. "It means his room. He never listens, never does what he's told."

"Well, actually," Trent spoke up. "He was doing what he was told to."

"Don't. Don't do that. Don't twist it." Ray shook his head. "Searching out a popsicle is not an acceptable reason to disobey orders and leave quarters Trent."

"Doubt he was thinking right Ray." Brock argued. "He hurt, he was in pain, he was tired, the flight….he was alone."

"Aspirin man, ibuprofen, he didn't need a popsicle."

"Aww, Ray, man, come on." Sonny wheedled. "He didn't mean any harm, only person who got hurt was him and Cap had it out for him. That's not on the kid."

"Oh, it's on Spenser! Him and his stubborn pride! None of this ever would have happened, had he just dealt with the woman who attacked him four, five days ago! But no, he didn't. He got hurt and couldn't fly home. He was left behind alone and made a stupid decision to respond to Cap's request. A man he has no respect for."

"That's on Trent."

"HEY!"

"And what we've learned about his history with Cap and women, doesn't sway you at all?"

"Jesus Ray, just stop! Alright, just stop! Stop pushing."

"He….."

"He knows! He knows what he did seven years ago – we know! He didn't do anything wrong this time. He didn't choose a….hell, a _terrorist_ over his own team. He didn't Ray! And you know that!"

"Jason….." Ray tried. He was tired of arguing with his three teammates and getting nowhere.

"Kid ain't never changed as long as I've known him."

And oh, Sonny was riled up. He wasn't letting go.

"Did you ask him?" Brock asked quietly. "Did you Ray? Did you ask him?"

"Ask him what?"

"What? Why? For an explanation? Why he did what he did for her seven years ago?"

"What does it matter?!"

"He let her walk away. Despite what she did to his team, he let her go."

"Ask Jason. He let her go too. Didn't even ask her what happened."

"You know Clay."

"Thought I did."

"Then tell me Ray, tell me what you know, what you think, because I sure as hell have missed something. You know him! That kid would never knowingly endanger any of us. Or anyone on Support. No teammate. Never."

"And if you think he would, you aren't the man I thought you were."

"Are we taking sides now? You know me as well as you know Spenser."

"Thought I did."

"Here now." Eric stood up. "Enough."

"Where is he?"

"Still in the infirmary."

"If he does anything stupid…." Sonny warned Ray. "It's on you."

Eric whistled, held a hand up for silence. "I want to know one thing. And the only voice I better hear, is the one giving me an answer. Am I understood?"

Silence.

"Ray, before you jumped all over Spenser, did you ask him what happened?"

"No."

"Did you give him a chance to explain?"

"No."

"So, you acted on what knowledge you gained from Cap."

"I did."

"Well, then you can do damage control. Whatever the relationship between Spenser and Jabar is, we might not ever know. You have to trust him."

"We're going to ask him." Jason said wearily. "When he's had time to rest, feel better, get some sleep, we'll sit him down, ask him to tell us what happened to convince him to let her go."

"Just like that?" Ray shook his head. "You think he will?"

"Got a problem with me Ray?" Clay entered the room. "Got something to say? I'm right here, let me have it."

"Okay, yeah, let's have it out. Spenser, I get you felt the need to help her, but she killed American soldiers, sailors. I'm sorry, but no, she can't get away with that."

"Gonna hafta be enough for you Ray." Clay shifted his weight, hissed. "She will never again attack the American military unless it is retaliation. Let her go."

"Even if we can identify her?"

"She is trusting me. You gotta do the same." Clay took a step forward, put his full weight on his bum hip and…..fainted at Ray's feet.

"Really Ray?" Sonny was the first to move. "You happy now?"

"WHAT? What'd I do?"

"You went and upset him." Sonny complained without rancor. "Brock, grab a foot."

"Trent?" Jason questioned. He'd had time to shower and grab a sandwich while Clay had been in the infirmary and he was now ready for bed. Didn't matter what time of day it was. He was beat and he wanted to sleep.

"He's exhausted Jay. Been through a lot, last couple days. Week."

Sonny and Brock picked Clay up from the floor, dropped him on his bunk, stood back.

"He okay?" Sonny asked. "I need to get Doc?"

"He needs sleep." Trent sighed. "He's fine. He'll cool down, and when he's comfortable, he'll sleep."

"How long?" Sonny pushed.

"How long?" Trent repeated.

"Yeah, I wanna talk to him. Get some answers."

"Gonna be hours and you're going to leave him alone until he wakes up on his own." Trent put the back of his hand against Clay's forehead, took a peek at the staples. No fever, no signs of infection, Clay didn't tense or jerk at his light touch pressing the staples. "Just need to keep an eye on him for a bit, watch for infection but meds should take care of that."

"FINE!" Sonny threw his hands up. "But he wakes up with a headache and wants a popsicle, he ain't gonna go get one."

"Not letting him out of our sights." Brock tossed a blanket over Clay. Cerberus jumped up onto the cot, settled next to Clay's hip, dared anyone to make him move. "Cerb'll take first watch."

"Woof!"

The team was beat, it was doubtful they'd hear Clay should he chose to get up and wander off on his own for some stupid reason or another, but even if he were sound asleep and doggy dreaming, Cerberus would wake instantly should his partner in bed get out of it.

"You're released." Eric answered some question or another someone had asked. "Wheels up in 36 hours and come hell or high water, Clay will be on that plane."

Ray looked at Jason, then over to Blackburn. Neither one was going to push this any further. As far as they were concerned, it was done and over. Cap was under arrest and that was that. A trial would come later, Clay would testify, they all would, and what ever had happened, what anyone knew, would never be discussed again.

He looked over at Clay, stepped closer to the bunk.

He could live with that.


End file.
